Everything I Do
by OceansAway
Summary: After that fateful night Christine is left to face her decisions. Then she's gone. Disappeared. Nobody knows where she left. But someone might know why... Taken over from Gerik's Angel. R&R!
1. Where Could She Be?

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

**Hello, and thank you for reading Everything I Do.**

**This story was written by Gerik's Angel, but due to unseen events, couldn't complete it. So here it is again.**

**I have edited, combined, and added to the first 20 or so chapters.**

* * *

**Read and review please!**

* * *

"If I did, don't you think I'd be there with her? The fact that I reported her missing means I have no idea!" Raoul said, expressing no empathy, stressed beyond belief, running a hand through his hair.

"But did she say anything? Did she act at all unusual when she was with you?"

"No. Christine hasn't quite been herself since...well, since the Opera Fire. But she was fine with everything, this I do know! She told me multiple times!"

"She would never burden her problems on you, boy. How could you help her?" Madame muttered sadly under her breath.

"Why don't you go ask that _monster_ if he has seen her?" Raoul suddenly enraged.

"What have you been thinking, Vicomte? The _monster_ has a name. Although I cannot defend all of his actions, I believe that his love for her was as true as dawn. _Erik_ is on my list to see next, but I already know he doesn't _have_ her. He didn't take her, I promise you that." She assured him confidently.

"How do you know if you haven't visited him yet?" Raoul asked angrily.

"Because he simply gave up. Christine hurt him terribly when she left, and he let her go - for good, Vicomte. He doesn't have her. Now whether Christine went to him... I doubt. But that's what I'm going to find out." Madame's tone implied the topic was not up for discussion. "Now, do you have anything else to add?"

Raoul shook his head, his jaw set. He had dark circles under his eyes, clear evidence that he had been without sleep for quite sometime. And anger, suspicion and hurt in held heavy in his heart he wished Christine with him, for he did love her so. And he couldn't trust Madame. Even she wasn't safe from _his _wrath. God only knew how the monster had dealt with Christine's elopement. Madame nodded her head in acknowledgement, and then left the manor.

"Well?" Meg asked anxiously once Madame reached the carriage.

"Erik." Was the only hint Madame would offer as Meg followed, puzzled.


	2. Away From There

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

**A/N: Here's chapter one! The chapters do get longer. Read and review!

* * *

**

"But are you _sure_, Erik, or do you just say this?" Madame probed the notorious opera ghost.

"You think I would hide something like this? You think I would protect her? Perhaps you haven't been caught up on the times." Erik said with more than a touch of annoyance.

"She never goes anywhere with out telling _someone_." Madame persisted.

"And what? You assume that since de Changy cannot keep hold of his own fiancée that she must have run away and of course she told her _Angel_?" Erik inquired sarcastically.

"Well, I was hoping." Madame admitted. "Erik... Usually you know where everyone is! You're the Opera Ghost - you keep track of every ballet rat in the entire place. Right now you most likely know where Meg is!"

"In the ballet dormitory of the right corner, worrying about you. It's what she always does when you come here. She's afraid you'll get taken by the monster, yes?" Erik shrugged. "It what every ballet rat does - shiver in fear of me. Even a certain singer does so at the very thought of having to see me just once again." His tone turned dark and filled with cynicism.

"I doubt that, Erik. If I thought that was the truth, I wouldn't have come to you. The Vicomte won't admit it, but I know the two were arguing, and I'm willing to bet my life upon it that it had something to do with you."

"You think she ran away because of me?" Erik's tone implied that it was the most stupid thing he had ever heard. "You're looking in the wrong places."

"Really? You seem to know everything I'm doing wrong. Perhaps you could start leading me in the _right _direction. Where would you look?"

He shook his head. "Nowhere. She wants to be a child and run away from her problems... Let her."

"But maybe she didn't run away. Maybe someone took her, or she's lost, or in danger..."

"We would know." Erik simply said.

"How would we know?" Madame inquired sharply.

"Excuse me, _I_ would know. Obviously, I'm the only one who really understands the girl. Leave her be and she'll come home when she calms down and thinks she can handle her situation."

"But how could you be sure?"

He grinned with irony. "I'm her _Angel_, remember? Obviously I know what's in her heart... And what's not." He added with a bitter tone, and signaling the end of the conversation, turned from Madame Giry and sat at his organ bench and began playing.


	3. Did He Take Her?

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine walked back and forth. Thankfully, everyone had returned to their rented rooms by now and she was able to be alone. She looked over the railing and saw the ocean below. Yes, she was on a ship. Sailing far, far away. But she had to wonder how the ship wasn't sinking when she had such an incredibly heavy heart. She couldn't get her beloved ones off of her mind. She even stopped trying. Christine had fled France, and had the mind not to return for a long time.

She saw a couple a few yards away. The woman looked young but regal, with a fancy dress with a lace neck and hair in a bun with tresses romantically falling from it. Her arm was around a tall man's arm. He had neatly trimmed black hair and a nice evening suit. From behind, he reminded her all too much of a certain Phantom she once knew.

Shaking her head, she looked back into the dark water. She had been one here for a little over a week, and had a few more to come. It was now that she finally got her sea legs and stopped losing her last meal every time the ship hit a wave.

The waves entranced her. They rolled, continuously. Yet never following the same path. They seemed to tell her, _"We can take away your problems. Leave them all behind in Paris. Watch how we clean this window. How we bring delight to the little children being splashed. We can help."_

Still, she couldn't wait to be on shore, to be an ocean away from all her problems. She just prayed that none – problems or people – would be able to follow her...

* * *

"Madame!" A young messenger boy ran after Antoinette. She paused and he caught up to her in the long hallway. "You are Antoinette Giry?"

"Oui, monsieur. Who calls?" She had an intuition that it was the Comte, again.

His answer confused her. "The Comte de Chagny, madame. He says that he wishes to for you to visit him. He has sent a carriage for you."

She nodded and gave him a few coins extra than what he expected. "Go find the managers, one is short with frizzy light grey hair, the other tall and black-grey blend of hair, they should be together. Tell them Madame Giry has left for urgent family affairs and had to leave."

The boy did not question her. He ran off quickly.

She quickly strode toward the entrance hall to the road. But before she could exit the ballet dormitory hallway she found Meg.

"Meg! I am going to visit the Comte. He has sent for me. Please assist the younger ones, have La Sorelli perform some of her Prima Ballerina duties and lead the rest in practice." Madame Giry instructed.

Meg nodded, "Yes. He is in such a state. With his brother dead, and his fiancée missing I understand why he is in such a state!"

Madame was shocked, "The Comte? Dead? When? How have you learned of this child?"

She shrugged, "It said so in the paper. The police believe he was killed the night of the Opera disaster. They found his body near the Rue Scribe. He had drowned!"

Antoinette was shaken, but hid it from her daughter. "My God… May he rest in peace. This means that Raoul is now the Comte, and Christine the future Comtesse… Please Meg, do as I asked, I will not leave him waiting, with such a mess on his hands."

Meg nodded and kissed her, "_Je aimer tu, Manan_. Be careful."

She quickly left the hallway and exited through an employee entrance. She headed to the carriage with the Chagny crest on it. The driver asked, "You are the ballet mistress?"

She nodded and they headed for the de Chagny home.

When they arrived Madame Giry had to brace herself for the extravagant display of wealth. The lawns were perfectly kept with a fountain, and many beautiful flower gardens. The house itself was a fourth the size the Opera House! Its beautiful whitewashed walls with pillars accented the main entrance, which she found herself escorted to by the driver.

A butler opened the door and brought her to the Comte's study. He bowed and left her.

Madame hesitantly knocked. The sound of soles hitting the wooden floor stopped, then started as he opened the door. "Yes?" He asked, without really seeing her. "You sent for me." Antoinette answered calmly.

Oh! Madame Giry! Come in!" He answered, stepping out of the doorframe. Raoul's eyes where bloodshot with lack of sleep. His hair and clothing was unkempt, as if he didn't have the patience for a butler to help him change. A tray of bread, which she assumed to be his breakfast, laid only half eaten on his desk. Next to the tray laid maps of France, Spain and Germany. "I need to find her! How can she be missing for so long? I have some of the best officers in all of Paris searching all of France, Spain, Germany and parts of England!" Raoul exclaimed, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. "If only I could be sure..."

Madame Giry just watched the pacing Comte, observing him in interest.

"He didn't do it, Monsieur, I promise you that."

"He? He? You refer to that horrid monster? How could you promise? You know _nothing_ of what goes on in that head of his!" Raoul paced the room irately. "Did you know he planned out Don Juan for months? What would happen, what he'd do? He's intelligent; I'll give him that. He found out about the trap, only to use it to his advantage. You didn't know he'd show up in his opera. You didn't know he'd turn vicious after Christine ripped off his mask - after proposing to her! You didn't know he'd take her and drag her down to his lair! You didn't know he'd threaten my life to make her marry him! All you knew was to keep my hand at the level of my eyes!" He yelled, yet nothing affected Madame Giry's resolve.

"And you didn't even listen. Had you, you'd have been able to avoid some of the damage inflicted upon you memory of that night."

"Do not tell me what I should have done! I know I was foolish...believing that he could be human for once when he saw how worried I was for Christine! I trusted him in that moment and yes, I did pay dearly for it. But that reflects upon his bad image more than mine! And I don't care about that night...I care about now. Where my fiancée is! Where she has gone!"

Raoul started pacing again, going on another rampage about how monstrous the Phantom was, as Madame Giry quietly slipped away, saddened by how Raoul could not see the spark of goodness he had shown that night.

She returned to the carriage. Quietly she told the driver, "Back to the _Opéra_, _s'il vous plaît._" He nodded as he shut her door.

Quickly they swept past the lawns accompanying the de Chagny Paris manor. Soon they were entering familiar streets, the café on the corner, many different shops, a turn, as they arrived upon the Opera House. She gave him a nod, which he returned, and entered through a side entrance.

She went to her rooms, similar to the ballet dormitories, only larger. Connecting an office, for the little paperwork she received. There she had a large soft chair, fabric faded, but served its duty as well as any new piece would.

She let her sigh escape her. Where could Christine have gone? No, not could, she could go anywhere she wished. She certainly had the funds, as the Comte would have given her anything she wished.

Where did she go? _Why_ did she go? Her father and surrogate parents had all died before she had left for the Opera House. No, she had no family or friends outside of Paris. She could be anywhere.

So why did she go? What did she need to escape? Nothing. Erik had let her go. He wanted no more in her life. What if she didn't leave of her own free will? God then knows if she still lives then! But who would take her? She hasn't any jealous lover who would take her. She didn't have a secret lover. There was no ransom note.

Let God protect her. All they could do was pray.

* * *

Another week had past. The waves had lost their appeal. Now her eyes could not distinguish the formerly different patterns. The deep blue sea, instead of holding many wonders was only another trap. Another hidden dungeon, reminding her of the one she left under the Opera House.

She longed for fresh food. The provisions served were only what could last the trip. The food grew tasteless. She no longer cared what passed through her mouth.

In her cot she tossed and turned. Nightmares from the night underneath the Opera still haunted her. The lasso, the haunted look in the Phantom's eyes, the expression of shock on Raoul's face, the cries of the mob, the wedding dress, until everything swirled together entrapping her in the depths of her mind.

She could not wait to arrive in America. At least then she could do more than brood.

* * *

**A/N: Here is a full length chapter. I have added a lot to this, but hopefully I didn't mess up the plotline anywhere...**

**Read and review! Thank you eyeplayclarinet for your review.**


	4. New Soils and Plans for Justice

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine had anxiously waited for the day her feet would step upon the soil of this new continent. Yet, when she did, she wished that she could run back on the ship and beg for a passage back to France. But when she thought about the sickness, waves, and food, she quickly abandoned the idea. She was here now, that was all there was to it.

New York. Such a large place with so many people! The city of Manhattan that she was in now seemed bigger than all of France! She walked timidly, trying to find her bearings. A post office was nearby, so she quickly shuffled in to there.

"May I help you, Ma'am?" The man behind the counter asked.

"Oui. Je-" She realized the man may not be able to understand French. She began hesitantly in English that she had learned from several English songs and operas she had learned. "I am… Searching, for a-non, an inn to stay at."

He kindly wrote down a list of addresses where she'd be able to find a good night's rest. Thanking him gratefully, she quickly went in search, her tattered suitcases heavy in her hands.

When she reached the first address, she found a vacancy and entered her room; she dropped her bags on the floor and collapsed on to the bed, thoroughly exhausted both physically and mentally.

She lay in the bed for a long hour. Her mind couldn't settle. _Why did she come here? What caused her to come somewhere so entirely different than France? Why leave everything she knew?_ She tried to stop the flood of questions. _I came to forget. I came to forget him!_

_Oh! But why couldn't I have forgotten him at home? With dear, sweet Raoul?_ Tears rolled down her cheeks soaking the pillow.

Oh what a fool she was! She was a fool to run from her problems. She was weak for keeping it all to herself. Then she was a fool to stay away. Keeping them all worried. She was weak for wanting to go home. Why couldn't she be strong? Protected herself from the whole ordeal.

Her thoughts began to run in circles? _Why? I was such a fool. I am so weak. Why? _Eventually the thoughts lulled her to sleep.

Yet her dreams gave her little comfort - they were all focused on a world away, where a Comte searched for his fiancée and their friends were worried to death about her safekeeping.

* * *

"She's nowhere! Absolutely nowhere." Madame Giry announced, after finding her way in to the lair again.

Erik grunted in acknowledgement, but did not stop his folding of clothes.

"Erik? Erik, are you...going somewhere?" She asked, suddenly hopeful when she saw the bags. He was going after Christine!

"As a matter of fact, I am." Erik informed her steadily.

"Then you should know that London, Perros and all of Paris has been covered and that he has sent officers to Southern France last I heard."

"Covered? What do you speak of, Antoinette?"

"The search for Christine, of course! Those places are already covered, so you should start-"

"I'm not going to find Christine!" Erik exclaimed.

"You're...not?"

"No. I'm leaving on my own. To go try and make something out of this worthless life while I can. I told you before - if the girl wants to run away like a child, let her. She will come back when she's ready."

"How do you know?" Madame Giry enquired, aghast.

He side glanced at her, his jaw set. "She'll come back when she's ready." He said stubbornly, in a low voice. "But what she does is no longer any of my affairs." He picked up his suitcase. "I take my leave."

"Where are you going? In case I'd have to find you?"

"I'm planning on going everywhere, but nowhere. You won't be finding me."

"But what if we find Christine? Or what if she's injured?"

Erik turned to the elderly woman. "I don't care, Madame. I have nothing for her. To me, she is now just another runaway soprano that has turned in to a brat, thanks to both that Comte's hands and my own. He gave her everything in the world; I gave her everything under it. I even gave her front stage and her greatest gift. But he has spoiled her heart. I have too. So now, I wash my hands from it all. Now, I take my leave." And with that, he took a bag of things and put them in her hand. "These are the few valuables from down here. You may sell them, for you deserve the money after your years of service to me."

"It wasn't service, Erik - it was caring and love."

He ignored this, and picked up his suitcase, grabbing his hat and putting it on to shade his face, the exited through the Rue Scribe.

Madame Giry waited, hoping that somehow he'd change his mind and stay. He never looked back.

She now stood in the void and empty abode of the Opera Ghost. With both the woman she thought a daughter and the man she thought a son gone, her heart had never been so heavy.

* * *

Raoul was persistent. No one dared to question him. He had officers searching all of France, as well as parts of Spain, Germany, even England. So far there was no sign of her. He was contemplating sending officers to Switzerland, Belgium, Andorra, Monaco, Luxemburg, or Italy. 

She could be anywhere. She was well known. Perhaps she was taken into lesser-known countries. She would be easily recognized elsewhere.

Where in the world could she have gone?

Raoul has searched her rooms. Countless times. To his knowledge, nothing was taken. Her dresser was messed up, as she was preparing for dinner. But all the jewelry was there. All of the fine frocks he had bought her were in the closet. Most of them untouched from the day he bought them.

He was worried for her. Who would take his angel? He had no enemies, save for the monster. He must have taken her. No matter what Madame Giry said.

The monster's inner nature had won. He could not act humanly. For he was not human. And who can win a battle against themselves?

But that gave him no excuse! He would rescue her from the monster. Again, and if need be, again, for the rest of eternity.

If there were breath in his body he would stop that monster. If it had just been for lying to Christine, if the monster had released her as soon as she knew the terrible falsehood, he would still work as diligently as he did now to avenge her.

But he had done more than lie to her. He had abducted her, prevented her from talking to him, and murdered countless people with his evil schemes. The night of the Opera disaster, the monster suddenly left. He came back drenched. Raoul was not surprised to see the body of his brother being brought in when he awoke from his time in the torture chamber.

He had killed his brother. If the matter were not personal enough it was now. His brother was the closest to a father like figure he had. Now his aunt and uncle were his guardians. Philippe had put it in his will. He assumed that Raoul would remain childless and chase after other low class figures.

But Christine wasn't just another low class figure. She was perfect.

His aunt and uncle were currently traveling throughout all of Europe. They were unable to reach by post. He would have to wait another year and a half until their pre-scheduled visit.

He would not wait for them for anything. He would find Christine, bring her home, and marry her. Then he would locate the demon. He would bring the creature, Erik, he dared to have a name, and he would bring him to justice.

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 3!!! I have the first 10 ready. I'll update when I get back from my grandmother's.**

**Happy 4th of July! Whether you celebrate it or not!**

**Thank you eyeplayclarinet again for your review. Please review! Tell me what you think. I must have messed up on _something..._**


	5. Time to Let Go

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

"When will I know, Monsieur?" Christine asked, fingers crossed behind her back. 

"As soon as possible. Just put down the address of your home and we'll send a letter out if you are chosen."

They wanted to check more girls, just to be sure.

Christine looked up at the New York Opera House's ceiling and sighed. She was running out of money for her hotel room, and badly needed a job to survive.

'_Please let me get this job!' _She murmured up to the Heavens as she took off her ballet slippers once away from the managers. Ballet... It was what she was now reduced to. To be part of the corps de ballet. No great honor. No great respect. No soprano lighting the stage. But she would deal with it if it meant she could stay in this new place. Away from her misery and hurts.

"Ma'am?" A handsome young man behind a desk asked when she went to leave.

"Yes, monsieur?"

"Your name and address, my lady. You need to write it down for the managers to contact you for the job."

"If I get it." She said sadly, walking over to him.

"Oh, you'll get it. I'm not supposed to, but I left my spot to watch you perform. You were lovely. And very experienced for such a young woman."

She blushed at his comments. "I've been practicing since I was seven."

"Your accent is beautiful. Where are you from?"

"Sweden originally. I moved to France when I was quite young."

"That explains how it seems mixed. Oh, here Miss - you forgot to put down your name." He pointed out quickly. She blushed again from her own stupidity.

"Forgive me." She whispered. But just as she was about to write her name, she stopped. Her name had gone famous after the fire and the public announcement of her engagement to the handsome Comte. She couldn't be herself here. They'd be afraid that her Opera Ghost was following her and would never hire her. She needed money...

'_Aminta Giry' _She quickly wrote before swiftly turning and walking out, cursing herself. Why? Why did she write Aminta? Now her Ghost really would haunt her while she was here.

* * *

"He's gone, correct? Really gone, Maman? I know what we can do to get Christine to come home! It's so wonderful! If we could only make it public somehow..." Meg gushed as she burst into her mother's room eagerly. 

"Yes. But what would making it public bring Christine home?" Madame Giry exclaimed, her attention quickly brought back to reality from her novel. "Why ever would you suggest such a thing?"

"Because then Christine will see that he is at last gone and she can come back!"

"Why do you think that she has left because of him? Did she say anything to you?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, but isn't it obvious? She used to mention all the time that she felt he was still with her. That she still dreamt about him. That he haunted all her footsteps. He has been with her even still! But at last he has gone and she can rest easily now."

Madame Giry looked surprise at her daughter, lost now in her own thoughts. How could she not have known before?

* * *

In her hotel room Christine contemplated her situation. She sighed. She needed that job. Need be she could apply for a sewing job… But her stitches were questionable, as she had never a need to sew much more than her frocks that she wore when she was not at rehearsals and on leave. 

Christine decided that if she was going to ponder she might as well do something useful. Her body stung from her audition. She manage to keep balance by shad hadn't stretched herself since she was at the Opera House.

As she reached for her toes her thoughts turned to Raoul. She resolved to find news of him as soon as she found a source of income. _He must be so worried…_ She needed to shake those thoughts out of her head! This would benefit them both once she returned. She would be ready to marry him once she returned.

She could what he expected of her. She wouldn't sing in the Opera… That was this was for. She was letting go of the past. Now Erik could not follow her everywhere. She was safe. He said so himself he would be dead soon. When she returned he would no longer be there to haunt her conscience.

She would be able to start her life anew. No more singing in front of dazzled audiences. No more scanty costumes. No more bruises along her legs. She would be above that. She would scrutinize instead of being examined.

This would just give her what she needed. Time to let go.

* * *

**A/N: I know this is somewhat boring at this point in time. But I'm working on it.**

**This chapter is entirely dedicated to eyeplayclarinet. Otherwise I wouldn't have updated today.**

**Please review people. Had a horrible day and really need some cheering up. Thanks.**

**Also, all those big fireworks you see, that you think, _Is that even illegal?_ They're not. They're illegal and imported from Wiscousin. At least, all those in Minnesota are. I read their newspaper. lol**


	6. Return to Ballet and a Search

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine bit her lip in anticipation. She had just received her letter that she had gotten the job as a dancer in the Opera House. She had already been given a dormitory room, and now was all set for dancing once again. It would feel good to stretch out her legs again to grace across the stage.

She couldn't help think, while her voice talents rotted away from silence. That talent that she almost wanted to rot away. At least then, she wouldn't have to torture herself with what ifs.

"Row four." The ballet mistress called out. That was her row. She fluttered out in pearl steps with the other eight girls in her row. She kicked out her foot high as she twirled around, and then kept going. She found herself near struggling to keep up. After all, she hadn't been a student of strict Madame Giry for well over a year. Just as she was pinching her eyes closed to picture her old teacher's face, she lost balance. She desperately grasped for her dignity, but lost it when she grabbed another girl's skirt, sending her and two others down on the floor. And suddenly, her new ballet mistress was glaring directly at her.

"Miss? What is your name?" She asked sternly.

She almost replied with Christine, but then paused, as the instructor was still glaring at her, and remembered what she had put on the form. "Aminta. Aminta Giry, Madame."

"Are you alright?"

"I...I think so, Madame."

"Then get yourself up and move to row five. You'll have to try this again. If you mess this up once more, you'll have to train harder." And then to herself, she added, "Really...those managers will hire just anyone now. And imports? Really!"

Christine sucked in her hurt and scrambled herself to her feet. If only they knew... If only she could reveal to them just who she was... They'd all be at _her_ feet.

Crossing her arms tight to her chest, she walked over to the side stage, her ankle burning but forced to ignore it.

* * *

Christine sat at the window seat, her cheek lying against her knees that were tucked tight against her chest. Her ankle still hurt, but after such a brutal day, it was the least of her problems. She had bruises all up and down her legs, her toenails kept oozing blood, which stained her shoes. Her hair was in matted knots that she didn't have enough strength to comb out.

There was no longer any Meg to insist she could do it, or a Madame Giry to give her tutoring after ballet hours. She was on her own, struggling to keep up against all these other girls.

Hot tears stung at her eyes that refused to fall. She wouldn't cry. Crying was not the answer. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't bring in any money or bring her the comfort of home. It wouldn't take away all her problems and sew everything back together. It would solve nothing.

Therefore she laid down on her bed stiffly and closed her eyes tight, falling asleep to her mind imagining she was back in her old dormitory room, imagining where everyone would be sleeping and all the things that would surround her in the room.

Christine suffered through another week of glares and fallings, until she was alone. She had fallen asleep at the side stage hours ago when her row was finished, and no one had woken her up. The stage was dark, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't like the dark. Things of all different sorts lingered in the dark, this she now knew well. Her arms against her tight for lack of security, she started walking through the hallways with trembling, weak legs. What a mess she had gotten herself in to! This whole ordeal was an entire mistake! She had made so many in the last year. Feeling a wave of fear coming on, she started to sing to chase it away. She decided to began singing the opening scene of Hannibal, for she could then practice the ballet steps.

"_With feasting and dancing and song,_

_Tonight in celebration,_

_We greet the glorious throng,_

_Returned to bring salvation!"_

She paused; then continued decided to sing the next lines several octaves higher.

"_The trumpets of Carthage resound!_

_Hear Romans now and tremble!_

_Hark to our steps on the ground!_

"_Sad to return to find the land we love,_

_Threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp._

_Tomorrow we shall break the chains of Rome._

_Tonight, rejoice – your army has come home."_

She began humming the background music and began her steps, hesitantly. A leap here. A jump there. A twirl, then a fan kick. Bend, with her arms flailing above her. A box step, quickly followed by a grapevine. Run in a line across the stage. Repeat until cued to stop. Spin, spin, and spin. Stop; then turn backward. Run forward. End with a curtsy and fall to the floor.

"Is someone there?" She heard a man's voice call out. She gasped and quickly ran to the side of the dark hall against the wall.

"Excuse me, who's there?" The voice asked again, but this time he opened the door he was in, and light from the room flooded on both of them. It was one of her managers.

"I monsieur. I was practicing my ballet. I seem to grown out step lately. Please don't be mad at me, I don't mean to be out so late. I know it's against the rules to be around here, but-"

"I will excuse you this time. Please head to the dormitories." He instructed.

She nodded as her cheeks flared. She ran away, guiltily to her room.

* * *

She returned to the her room, which she shared with another dancer, Marie. She was already asleep, but a light sleeper. Christine's light noise woke her. Marie opened up the door leading to the small, common entrance area. She spoke, the slur of sleep heavy on her voice, "Aminta… _Quipour?_ Where were you after rehearsals? What are you doing awake _amie_?"

Marie was also from France. She had come over several years ago to work for the ballet company, as the company she danced with was failing. She was her only true friend here. The rest of the immigrants were just polite, too busy to talk. Everyone else gossiped, because she was a foreigner with mediocre dancing, yet got in the company. Marie was helping Christine with her English after rehearsals.

"After rehearsals…" She blushed, "I fell asleep. But just now, I was dancing. I am unpracticed and need to improve. Greatly." She looked down.

"Oh! Mon chéri!" Marie embraced her lightly. "I understand. If you wish, we can do your lessons later, so you can practice more."

Christine returned the hug. "Merci beacoup Marie, that will work good?"

Marie smiled, "Well. The English has the oddest grammar."

* * *

After her fourth week in America, third at the Opera House, Christine grew into a routine. She would wake up, dress for rehearsals, then go to the mess hall with the rest of the girls. They would all walk together to rehearsal. After rehearsal finished, they would all go off to more specific training. The corps de ballet stayed on stage, under supervision of the ballet mistress, Mary Clairvet.

Today Madam Clairvet had an announcement. "There is news, girls. We after this show, our current conductor, Mister Britton, will retire. Our new conductor and composer will be Mister Destler. He is from France and he wishes for us to perform "Hannibal". After the final performance, next Friday, we will begin learning the dances. Begin warm-ups. We will begin with our partner dance from Act III." They all hurried to their places.

Christine stretched with Marie. But unlike the rest of the ballet rats, who gossiped at every possible moment, Marie continued to teach Christine English. They were interrupted learning about conjugating verbs; George – Christine's dance partner – tapped Marie on the shoulder.

"Hello Aminta." He smiled at who he knew to be Marie.

"You're looking for her." Marie's blush was as bright as a tomato as she pointed to Christine.

George turned to Christine. "Oops! I'm sorry. You're just so beautiful I was confused!" George complimented in his own odd way.

Christine rolled her eyes. "You're such a flirt." As Madam called for attention she smiled at Marie and mouthed, _"See you later!"_

Marie nodded and looked for her partner.

Rehearsals went on as usual, without any missteps, which Christine was very proud of. When it ended she wished him a good day then began stretching for her self-inflicted rehearsals.

George waved; then walked over to Marie. She looked surprised then brought them into a hidden corner. Christine smiled, but continued stretching, still smiling.

When she later saw them leave, she saw Marie looked for people watching. Christine turned away.

When she looked back again, Marie had nearly pulled George off the stage. They were both smiling, lips swollen.

* * *

**A/N: I needed that bit of fluff at the end... I thought it was cute. Tell me what you think! That means review!!!**

**I have the power to take away the fluff. MUHAHAHAHA!!! So... Review to keep the fluff or to lose it!**

* * *

**Whoops! I accidentally had people calling Christine, Christine when they thought her to be Amita. Thanks for pointing that out Nyasia A. Maire. I'll get the next chapter up sometime today.**


	7. Rise to the Chorus and an Investigation

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine was still dancing after rehearsals. She felt happy. Seeing George talking to Marie, privately in the wings. It made her feel happy, happier than she had been in a long time, to see her friend so happy. She knew Marie had been dreamy eyed for him for some time. She began to sing.

"_How to find the words to say,_

_Never thought I'd feel this way,_

_Dreams coming true and more,_

_With you at my side to open the door!_

_I was locked in, caged,_

_Trapped by the bias of my imagination,_

_Opened up my eyes,_

_Dazzled by the world of light,_

_I left the grasp of the night,_

_Hiding in the oblivion of shadows,_

_Missing the beauty of the light,_

_Too afraid of opening my eyes-"_

Mr. Smith's voice stopped her mid-verse. "Who is that singing? Who is there?"

She moved to the wings but he entered too quickly. She sighed and walked toward him. "I was sir… Aminta Giry. I'll leave now." She was good at lapsing into role and remembering who she pretended to be. She turned to go.

"No, Miss Giry. Stay. You have a beautiful voice. Why aren't you part of the chorus?

She blushed and cursed herself at the same time. She didn't want to have to sing here! Oh, how stupid she was to let her feelings get away from her! "I'm really not that good, Monsieur. Quite poor at the moment. I haven't sung in quite some time."

"But why ever not? And you get better? If you are part of the chorus you would certainly improve!"

"I do not wish to sing."

"But you wish to abuse your body so? Ballet does not seem to be your field, Mademoiselle, if I may be so bold."

They both looked down at her legs. The bruises shown though the thin tights. Her cheeks flared. "I suppose I had spoiled my body for too long. I am beginning to remember. These are past bruises. My body never did heal fast…"

"We have a diva and an understudy for her already. But if you'd settle for being an understudy for the two and be in the chorus-"

"Monsieur, please-"

"It pays more, Mademoiselle. You're more valuable as a singer than a lowly dancer."

She could really use more money. She needed more clothing, and much more food than she was currently in taking. But her Angel! How could she sing a single note for anyone without her angel there? Her mood was quickly sinking. Without thinking about all she had done for him? If Raoul ever found out she was here singing, he would drastically get the wrong idea. He'd be disappointed in her. But the Comte was far away, and more than likely that he was already more than just disappointed in her with her latest actions. And beside Raoul, her stomach was growling, as if its fleshy walls were starting to crumble. She was growing thin, and they'd need to keep a girl in that job position looking good, just in case. They'd have to take care of her.

"Alright. I'll take it. But I would wish to remain in the corps ballet." She agreed.

He looked surprised, but then nodded. "Then it's yours. But you will have to attend some of the singing rehearsals also." he warned; then turned back to his office, shutting the door and once again leaving her on the stage, wondering about her decision. If she could even do what she just agreed to.

"Angel…" She whispered sorrowfully; then hurried down the hall to her room

* * *

He allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction. The performance was going perfect.

The leads hit the notes perfectly and sang with admiral passion. They did not miss any cue nor did their voices strain to reach the higher notes. The soprano in particular reminded him of a blonde haired angel…

The ballet was together and in step with the music. The girls' costumes were designed to be flexible, but also decent. They had done practice without complaint, and tried harder at his harsh criticism. Madame Giry would be proud of them.

The orchestra was in tune for _once._ The second cellist actually had rosin. The whole clarinet section had decent reeds. He was glad he had fired that second trumpet. He was bringing the whole section down. He flinched as a flute hit a note sharp. He looked at the pit. The first flutist had flushed crimson. He was defiantly demoted. To fifth chair. He looked in satisfaction with the oboist. The man had finally gotten an adequate instrument.

The set was excellent. Compared to last production's set this was worthy of being called a Hell. The flames looked all right. What he liked was the dark tones. He himself had shown the painters how to go about painting it. It was not about speed. It was about quality. The ladders had stabilized once they learned how to paint.

He stayed seated at the standing ovation. He would agree that the performance was a success. He would send his congratulations to the cast and crew. He would not be forced to cut any jobs. The flutist wouldn't lose his job – his pay would just decrease, significantly.

But his job was finished here. The theatre would sell out of tickets. After a performance like that, patrons would flock here, to be seen, and take part of the profits.

After all, they were all in it for the business. He was headed to Brussels, Belgium for a five-month period to start a performance of Faust at the _Beaux-Arts Théâtre_.

After that he was headed to New York, in America. He would see what the New World would have for him.

* * *

Nadir Khan gave polite nods to the servants he encountered in the de Chagny estate. He quickly found his destination: Christine Daaé's chambers.

As soon as he heard of the Phantom's departure Christine's became suspicious. Erik wasn't the most looked after. Who knew the exact date he left?

The Comte said that nothing was taken. He would check for sure.

He had gone to Madame Giry to ask her if she knew what Christine had taken with her to the estates. She had only the simplest items, hygiene items, her clothing, her childhood momentums, and her father's violin.

He reached the door, and silently opened it. The Comte was sitting inside on a chair next to the bed. His eyes where pink from tears and black bags hung from his clear lack of sleep.

"M. de Chagny._Excusez__-moi, pardon_. I have come to search the room. I would suggest that you get some rest. Mlle. Daaé would hate to see you in such condition." Nadir convinced.

"No, I wish to help, Daroga." Raoul's speech was tired, clearly showing he would be of little use.

"I must insist. You will be no help if you collapse." He called for a maid passing by. "Mlle! Would you please bring the Comte to his room? _Merci beacoup_."

He could begin searching, now that he knew that Raoul could rest. He started on with her dresser, as the things were scattered. It looked like she was in a hurry. He did notice that all the belongings remaining were new, and unused. He looked for a sign of any older items, as she would have had at the Opera House. There were none.

He now searched her closet. The dresses and other clothing were all worn lightly, or untouched. Again no sign of the older, simpler frocks Mlle. Daaé wore around the Opera House.

He began searching through her chemises and corsets. He hated to invade her privacy but he suspected that she had a box for funds hidden somewhere.

His instincts were correct. He found a music box, opened and empty, covered haphazardly under pantalets. Underneath that, he found several stray francs that must have fallen underneath.

He searched the nightstand. There was no rosary, lockets, or any other trinkets that had sentimental meaning left behind. The violin was also nowhere to be found.

He suspected, contrary to the Comte's beliefs, that Christine Daaé had left of her own will, and her disappearance had nothing to do with Erik's. Now it was uncertain whether Erik's disappearance had anything to do with Mlle. Daaé's…

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for your reviews! If you noticed, last chapters I had characters calling Christine, Christine rather than Amita. Thank you** **again Nyasia A. Maire, for pointing that out.**

**I also really wanted to put Nadir in there, so there he is. Please review!**


	8. News from Paris

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Five long months passed. Christine was in the chorus with many other girls of all ages, but she found herself shying away from really singing. Many times, she'd just pretend, learning the words only to lip-sync them with the others. She was convincing. In a chorus of fifty-two people, it was hard for the teacher to only focus on her, so she was easily brushed over. And never were both divas out at once, so she never had to worry about center stage. 

But right now, Christine had just finished a terribly long day of rehearsals. She was on her way back to her room when something caught her eye. A trashcan was right outside the manager's office door, a newspaper lying on top. And on that paper? The likeness of Raoul!

Giving a sharp cry at his pained expression, she fell to her knees to grab the paper and read it's contents of her beloved fiancé.

**From Paris, France**

_**The Count Raoul de Chagny, patron of the Opera Populaire, finds himself in great distress of the late. De Chagny graced our papers seven months ago after the Opera House's fire, caused by the infamous Opera Phantom, or Ghost. He was nearly killed that night; trying to save his fiancée, lead soprano diva Miss Christine Daaé. Both safely came back the same night, the mysterious Phantom disappearing ever since. **_

_**But now, it's the former singer whom causes this distress upon the Count. For five months, she has completely disappeared, leaving not a single trace, despite how hard the officers have searched internationally. **_

_**If anyone has any information about this missing person, please contact the address below. A wealthy reward will be apprized. **_

Christine felt hot tears course heavily down her cheeks as she stared at the white and black blur in her hands. He still searched for her. He still hadn't given up. He still loved her, though she was nothing more than a spoiled brat. Anger welled up in side of her at herself. Hatred at the wretched girl she had become. What would her father think of his princess now if he could see her?

"Miss Giry?" She heard behind her. She gasped, quickly wiping away her tears with vigor.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur Smith! But are...are you finished with this news paper?" She asked, begging him to say yes with her eyes.

"I suppose that's why it's in the trash, is it not? Why?"

"May I have it, Monsieur? "

"Ah, are you taken with that handsome young fellow? He's quite the looker, is he not? I hear many girls around here speak of him."

"You do?" She asked in shock.

"He's quite the story in France, and now it's here. Have you not kept up with the news?"

"Regretfully, I have not." She said, almost wanting to slip in the fact that she couldn't was because she couldn't afford a paper and that was why she was on her knees before a trash can, but kept silent.

"Take the paper. Just don't fantasize too much. Everyone thinks that because he fell in love with that soprano, that girls here have a chance. Obviously falling in love with a woman of that girl's stature was a grave mistake! She probably ran off with some secret lover she had, or is with child from one of them. It's what happens to many. No offense, of course." He said, for he had quite forgotten whom he was talking to.

She tried to calm herself. He had no idea how offensive that was!

"How do you know she wasn't taken and is dead now, or something horrid of that nature?" She spit out.

He shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. Perhaps that's why the Comte is so avid on finding her - most likely, it's his greatest fear. What I can't understand is why she'd run. She would have been marrying in to status and fortune - something she couldn't have with anyone else."

Christine opened her mouth, but he stopped her. "Please, Miss Giry! Next, you will try to tell me that perhaps she was in love with that monster and ran with him! You are like all the others." He shook his head.

"How could she? Is he not still in his lair?"

"No. It has been searched a second time. Most of his belongings are missing, and he has vanished. Right around the same time as that Daaé girl did as well. But it means nothing."

"Or it could mean everything." She whispered. Erik left? He had gone? She grabbed the paper and started to run to her room as fast as she could.

* * *

She fell upon her bed and opened the paper again, reading quickly. She skimmed through where they talked about Raoul again; then saw an interview with Madame Giry. 

**Madame A. Giry, Ballet Mistress**

_**I don't have the slightest idea where our **_

_**Christine could be, but I do know that**_

_**she is safe. Many people, my own**_

_**daughter whom was Christine's best**_

_**friend, fears that she is dead. I believe**_

_**it not, for I was told that she would**_

_**return just fine by someone who knew**_

_**Christine better than anyone else in this**_

_**world. Told me that she'd come back**_

_**when she was ready. I eagerly wait**_

_**that day, and have complete trust that**_

_**she will.**_

And then she went on to talk about 'the Opera Ghost'.

_**You will not find him. He has fled. **_

_**Please remember that the man you speak**_

_**of is indeed just that - a man. He is no**_

_**ghost, no monster, no phantom. He is a **_

_**man, who now wants to finally start living**_

_**the life he has been given anew. **_

No, he was no monster or phantom. He was no ghost. But he wasn't an angel either anymore. He was a man. A man that she had brought out of him with a simple kiss. And now, he had gone too, for reasons she could only guess. She knew that she was in New York after these five months that she had been gone. But where, in this great world, was he now? Where did he run to when she had killed his innocent angel with her actions? Where did he go when she left him for his enemy?

She flew to her pillow, sobs racking her slight body, the paper falling to the floor in her sorrow.

* * *

**A/N: After internet troubles, busy days and writer's block, I finally updated. Actually, it wasn't even that long... Thanks for your reviews. You know you want to press that little button. Please?**


	9. The Arrival of the Maestro

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

The next day Christine was making her way down the hallway with a message for the managers when she heard Mr. Smith talking. 

"I regret to inform you that you can not meet our diva and her understudy, but the two are gone today, getting fitted for new outfits. With the money we've been receiving lately, we can spare more in that area now. Since they are the ones you are working with, I desperately hoped for them to be here now. Though," he said, glancing at his watch, "they should be back at any moment".

Just then, Christine knocked. "Monsieur Smith, I have been asked to tell you that our diva and her understudy will not be coming back until tomorrow. They are weary from their fittings." Christine said, rolling her eyes at the slightly opened door.

He came out, his face in dismay. "What do you mean they won't be here? They are supposed to be here to meet our new composer and maestro!"

"So the renowned M. Destler has arrived, Monsieur?" She said with sarcasm.

"Indeed. Well, you are our second understudy, so you'll have to do." His face was stern by he made no mention of her rudeness. He turned to M. Destler. "Sir, I'd like to introduce you to our second understudy. You'll work with her just rarely, but she is all I have available at the moment." He announced, then grabbed Christine's arm roughly out of frustration and hurried her in. She stumbled over her feet, bowing her head to quickly fix her windblown hair.

"Sir, this is our second understudy, Miss Aminta Giry. Giry, meet Mr. Erik Destler."

He bowed, "Pleased to meet you Mademoiselle." His voice was calm

"Erik what...?" Christine whispered to herself in her tired daze, her head flying up, her jaw slacked and her brown eyes doe wide. She stood shock still. Had there been a fire at that moment, she would have had to stay in it, for she could not move a muscle if she tried. She knew that voice!

"Aminta Giry!" Mr. Smith's voice rang out in her ear angrily. "Do not gape at our new employer like that because of his mask! How dare you!"

Her breath was taken away. "Oh, it's not because of..." Her voice trailed off. If not because of that, then what? She didn't know him in Mr. Smith's eyes. And the way he was looking at her, his mask made up more of surprise than of porcelain, perhaps he didn't know he either. "Forgive me." She ended up whispering.

"Do not apologize to me! Tell Mr. Destler such."

Oh, she didn't want to! She didn't want to have to face him! A glowing anger had started deep within his eyes, and she knew he was thinking about the last time he had seen her. She breathed deeply before turning to him and walking up to the desk that he lounged behind.

"Forgive me, Monsieur. I have been very tired of late and know not what I am doing, if you would accept such an excuse." _So Erik was his name…_ She thought once her mind and body began to work again, forming her words in a voice louder than a whisper. She flinched at how feeble she sounded.

"Whatever would you be so tried from?" Mr. Smith asked, trying to make her look bad.

"I...I have taken up the corps de ballet again, Monsieur."

"Is being an understudy not enough glory for you now?"

"It is not that, I assure you. But I...I...need the money." She said softly, knowing he would not like the truth.

"You send out your divas to get clothing because of your better income, yet you let your workers starve?" The man in the mask said in shock.

"No, Sir, I assure you that they are paid very handsomely." He said, glaring at Christine to even dare her to call him a liar, though he was. "She just has very expensive tastes."

Even through his anger, Erik looked in concern at her dark colored legs under her ballet skirt that stopped right below the knee. "Do you abuse your dancers as well?"

Mr. Smith looked down at her legs and grew furious. "Just because she is a clumsy wench does not mean we abuse our dancers! She is new to this. If she can not handle the speed of our profession, then perhaps she should seek work elsewhere." He said, determined to look good in front of his respectable new employee.

Christine looked hurt, so she simply looked away, not liking how Erik was inspecting her, as if to see if she was good enough to be in his presence. When did the conditions change so drastically? How did he get so worthy? For the hundredth time, she cursed herself for not finding a way to keep up with the news. But then again, you couldn't eat paper.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, I didn't quite catch your first name. What was it?" Erik asked, moving on.

Oh, why must he torture her so? With cheeks blushing fiercely, she mumbled, "A... a… Aminta, Monsieur."

"Really? A very interesting name. Where did your parents get it?"

"I am an orphan. I do not know."

"It's an intriguing name. A good one for a main character of an opera, do you not think?"

"I always thought it was a pretty name." She replied minimally.

"And you're a Giry? Are you from France? I know many Girys. Are you related to Antoinette Giry?" He asked. He was trying to see where she stood. Never had she had to prove herself before!

"I am. A cousin."

"To her daughter Meg?" But just before she could nod, he quickly said, "For Antoinette has no siblings. Neither does Jules."

"Second cousin, I believe. As I said before, I am an orphan and know only little about such pasts."

"I see. Well I have nothing else to say to you. Go on and finish your work." he dismissed abruptly.

And that hurt too. With her head bowed, she left, hurrying from Mr. Smith's side. Her face was very red when she got to ballet practice and asked the mistress if she could have off for the day. She felt like she was going to faint, and it must have been obvious, for the strict teacher allowed her to leave right away.

She ran to her room and threw herself on to her bed, sobbing heavily at all she had just witnessed.

Whatever she had been expecting it was that. She thought M. Destler would have been someone like kind, old M. Reyer. Thoughts of home unleashed the flood again.

She knew someone would have found her sometime. But she had hoped not so soon. And not in this fashion. Erik wasn't even looking for her. He had no concern for her. He had made that perfectly clear by his haughty demeanor. He didn't even acknowledge their previous acquaintance.

Oh, and she had thought for a moment he cared! She thought she saw concern in his eyes when she said needed the money. Or when he saw the bruises lining her legs. That just a little of his love for her remained, in spite of all she had done to him.

But she couldn't expect that of him. He was only human. Just because he had the voice of an angel didn't mean he had the heart of one.

Once he may have. Then again, his heart had been an awful fool for falling in love with someone like her. What a fool she was to trust him. If she wasn't so naïve and never believed in the angel of music… Then she wouldn't be in this mess.

She would be happily married to Raoul and he could live peaceably with his music underground.

But she knew that it couldn't have ever been that simple. And she had better things to think of than past loves.

But that thought didn't prevent the tears from continuing to fall down her face.

* * *

**A/N: So Erik is finally there! Not sure about you but that makes _me_ excited! And also, I did try to have Erik and Christine use French titles and Mr. Smith use English titles. I might have missed a few.**

**Read and review!**


	10. Encounter in Front of Them All

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

The next day she got up early with her partner George to practice the dance moves that she had skipped the day before. After that, they went to rehearsals, and then...then was what she had been dreading all day - singing rehearsals. She feared that Erik would be there, and when she arrived there, she saw that she had been right. He was there, in the conductor's pit with music sheets surrounding him as he sat looking up at the stage. 

The Diva, La Ruby Para was called up front, following her understudy Rose Smith, the cousin of the manager, as Christine had just found out earlier that day from George. To her surprise, they wanted Christine to come forth too.

"You'll all sing for Mr. Destler so he can see how to work with you and how to write his music."

Christine's eyebrow perked up. How to write his music? Erik never let _anyone_ tell him how to write his music, especially not these untalented women!

Standing up there with them, Christine felt so young. Ruby Para was in her late thirties, maybe older. Rose was in her late twenties. And there Christine was, barely twenty! They had more experience than she, but it was her teacher that sat in front of them to judge. She ran through everything he had ever taught her and asked from her. She could do this easily. He'd allow her to outshine them all. That's why he was doing this after all, wasn't it? Of course it was!

Ruby smiled confidently, knowing there was no way he could cast her out. Putting her hands together at her chest, she opened her mouth wide and started to sing, loud and hard. When she finally stopped, Christine noticed that Erik's body had gone rigid, his jaw set, his eyes reduced to slits. That only meant trouble, or at least that had been to her experience.

"What was that?" he yelled. "This is your divine diva? Dogs howl at what you just called singing! Horrid! Is this how all of America is with their Opera Houses, or is this the only one so wretched?"

"But...but Monsieur...this is one of the most prized Houses in all of the nation!"

"This isn't a very good nation then, is it?" Erik shouted, then sat back down and waved his hand as if to clear the air. "Understudy, sing."

Rose was now clearly disturbed, for Ruby was her better. If Ruby was horrid... What would she be called? But she sang her best anyway, Christine watching Erik closely. Clearly something had managed to get him in a terrible mood, and she feared she knew what that was.

Erik just shook his head sadly when Rose stopped. "Vile. Absolutely revolting." He said in his sorrow. "This is what Americans call music? I have never felt prouder to be French. You need to replace your divas, Monsieur Smith."

Mr. Smith stayed quiet as Erik gazed back up at the stage. At her, his former Angel, Christine, right before his eyes.

"And this is who you leave me with?" He finally said, swallowing his emotions. "A lowly chorus girl, and when she's not that she's a ballet rat or a messenger girl? This is who you leave me to listen to? Pathetic!" He spat.

Christine's heart fell. Oh, how many times would he hurt her in such a short amount of time?

She closed her eyes, willing her tears to stay. A ballet rat? Lowly chorus girl?

"Sing." Her angel demanded, not in his beautiful soothing voice, but his harsh, fearful, demanding one. A voice he saved for managers when they disobeyed him or Raoul when he tried to take his beloved away. But to use it towards his angel? How could she sing to that?

Her eyes were watering more than she was able to control.

"Are you deaf, girl? Sing!" He urged, getting angry, as if he wasn't already.

She opened her sad eyes, staring at him as a single one fell down her smooth cheek. Her mouth couldn't open, let alone sing her heart out for this man.

"Get her off stage! She is useless to me. I will have to work with the other two for quite a while to try and get their voices in shape. Continue through with tomorrow's show, then cancel the rest until I have them perfectly trained."

Christine closed her eyes, not being able to breath. He was going to tutor other women? But she was his student! His one and only!

'_Not anymore.' _She thought, her mind stating the all too obvious. George hurried out and wrapped his arm around her, then walked her off stage, where she collapsed to the ground unceremoniously as soon as she reached her rooms and sobbed in to her hands. Her angel was indeed dead.

* * *

She found herself just inside her rooms. She could hear faint yelling. She concluded that rehearsal continued. 

As she began to move, she was forced still by a bout of dizziness. _That's what you get for being weak! Crying yourself to sleep! _The voice only brought on the tears again. She knew she was weak. She was not only weak, but also naïve, foolish, and indecisive.

Why did her heart throb at the thought of his love her gone?

Was she really that vain? Did she need the love and admiration of all to keep her happy?

Or was it something deeper? Why was he always on her mind? Why was did she sense this connection between them.

That why she came in the first place, wasn't it? To forget about the angel in Hell? To leave that Hell behind and enter her heaven of martial bliss?

What was she really escaping? She didn't leave Raoul. She loved him. _Why did that come out as loved?_ She refused to answer her own question.

Why did it seem that whenever she was alone, questions filled her mind as tears streamed down her cheeks?

She didn't know the answer to that question, only took it as fact. For more her tears fell more plentifully than stars in the sky.

* * *

**A/N: I had a problem finishing that last analogy. I thought of "pages in the dictionary," "hairs on her head," and "blades of grass on the de Chagny estate." But all of those are kinda odd…**

**Ignore that last comment!**

**Go and check out a oneshot that I plan to have up sometime tonight if you have the time.**

**Review and make this authoress's day!**


	11. The Aftermath and His Plans

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine felt vastly uncomfortable. She felt hardly dressed. A thick piece of material went across her chest, but the rest of her top was see-through. Her skirt was that of a ballet dancer's - thin and flowing. She was used to this after being in so many productions of Hannibal. But never in any of those productions had Erik sat in the front row, staring at her. She was at the front of the stage. George stood right behind her. 

"You alright?" He whispered in her ear.

"I suppose I must be." She said under her breath. He nodded, then took her hands and raised their arms. Since he was so tall, she had to stretch every muscle in her body to reach her fingertips to his palms.

The music started. It was still the old conductor, doing his last opera here. She kicked up her leg then spun in his arms. He put his arms around her middle and she arched her back to face the crowd upside down, then stood straight back up, putting her hands on George's shoulders and jumped, half her body going over his head as he held her up and quickly spun her. She landed on one foot, and kept going until the music changed. Then she, along with the rest of the dancers, quickly danced off to their side of the stage, Ruby fluttering on center stage to sing.

By the end of the show, Christine was sweaty and exhausted, ready to collapse. George wrapped his arm around her and helped her to the changing room door.

Once she was changed he asked, "You alright, Aminta?" He asked with worried eyes. Erik's gaze had taken everything out of her.

"I...I got to get to my room. I'll see you tomorrow..."

"But you'll miss the gala that's being held in honor of Mr. Destler's changes to here. He's supposed to be our miracle to save us or something. He's supposed to have saved dozens of other opera houses like us all over Europe. Either way, it's free food and music for us."

But she shook her head. "There will be another for when he started producing his first opera. I can afford to miss this one. And free music?" She tilted her head. "We work at an _Opera House_. We perform _Operas_. I don't think there is a lack of music around here."

George smiled, "If you can make retorts like that I deem you healthy enough to come to the gala." He tugged her arm. "Come, Marie is waiting for us."

"No, she's waiting for you. I am tired. You two have fun tonight."

And with that, she hobbled back to her room and climbed in to the solace of her bed.

* * *

The next day dawned sadly. Christine wondered who Erik danced with. The words that George had told her the night before floated across her mind. So now her angel was famous. He had gotten over his fear of rejection and hatred for mankind and made something of himself... And had forgotten her. 

Well, if he could forget her, then she certainly could forget him! It was part of the reason she was here, was it not? To be able to forget about him, everything and everyone else; then go back to France and marry Raoul? So why, oh why did she feel so hurt to know that Erik no longer cared for her? Why did it shatter her heart like fragile glass to see that he despised her? She looked in to her mirror as she brushed out her curls.

"_Angel of Music hide no longer. Come to me strange angel!"_ She sang softly. But this time, there was no masked wonder to reach out his hand and lead her to her fantasies. Only her two familiar deep pools of tears stared back at her. They seemed never to run dry.

* * *

"Where were you last night?" asked Marie. 

"I wasn't feeling good. But do tell me about it! How did it go for you?"

"Wonderful! I finally got to dance with George!" She squealed.

"Good! See, I told you he's noticing you." Christine told her, trying to keep from smiling. Guessing that it probably had come from their little rendezvous in the wings earlier.

"Yeah..." Marie said with a blush, seeing Christine's knowing gaze. "Anyway, Mr. Destler was looking for you."

Christine stopped walking to look at her friend in surprise. "He was? How do you know?"

"He asked everyone where you went! The managers and all. He even spoke to us little people. While I was dancing with George he came to us, knowing that George was your partner. Asked where you had gotten to, and George replied that you weren't feeling well and had gone back to your dormitory room. His face at first seemed to lift, but then fall again, as if remembering something. He looked like he was struggling, and then simply walked away. He didn't talk at all the rest of the night. Didn't dance with a single girl either, though they all wanted him to."

Christine tried to snap out of it, but it was so hard! Erik had asked for her! Maybe he wanted to talk to her by herself and apologize. Maybe he wanted to tell her he still loved her, his hard walls crumbled after her beautiful performance the night before.

Or maybe...maybe he wanted to be mean to her. Say that her performance was suffering. That she wasn't her best, or that she wasn't a good dancer. Knowing him, he wouldn't hesitate to say so if he was in the right mood. That broke her spell. Her spirit was no longer flying, though hope was. She continued down with Marie until the office door swung open, Mr. Smith hanging out of it.

"Miss Giry, may I have a word with you?"

Oh, this was it! She had successfully avoided Mr. Smith ever since that incident while meeting Erik. Would he yell at her now?

She bowed her head and walked over to him, her hands folded behind her back.

"Mr. Destler has been looking for you. He wishes to see you at the earliest moment you are available."

She looked up at him in surprise, but quickly masked it. "I don't know where he is, Monsieur."

"The door on the left of the orchestra pit. Do not disappoint him, Giry. He is a powerful man. You will regret it. And make sure you knock - he has quite the wrath when you interrupt him." Mr. Smith informed from previous experience.

She nodded, excusing herself then running along with Marie.

* * *

For once, Christine was overjoyed at her very busy schedule. She was in dance lessons through the morning. She and the rest of the dancers ate the leftovers from the gala over lunch, and then she headed to chorus practice. After that, she and George met up to practice what they had learned. And he complimented her, saying that she was the greatest partner he had ever had, which made her work that much harder. And then, tired and wanting bed, she dragged herself to the orchestra pit and to the door on the left of it. 

She knocked lightly, and opened the door. Erik was at the organ, playing like he used to in his lair. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining she was in her swan bed and being slowly awaken by the sweet music.

"You wanted me, Erik?" She asked then, opening her eyes. But he didn't stop playing. Instead, he just kept at it, faster and harder.

"Erik?" She said, unsure of why he was doing such.

He played louder, his fingers slamming down on the keys. She walked to him, slipping a hand to his shoulder. His hands went limp, falling in to his lap almost immediately at her touch. "Erik..."

"Thank you for coming, Mademoiselle Giry. I've been needing to speak with you."

"Please don't call me that when we're not in public."

"Why should I not? It's your name, isn't it?" He asked curtly. Her heart fell. This wasn't a meeting to discuss how overjoyed he was to see her.

"Call me Christine, please? I haven't heard a soul call me that for near six months."

"You're name isn't Christine though. Why should I call you it? Your name is Aminta Giry, a fine enough name."

"Erik!" She exclaimed, frustrated. Why was he being so difficult? "Why did you wish to see me?"

"The divas here are anything but. They are worse than Carlotta on her bad days. I have been in a few countries here and there. I take a job at an opera that is failing, then raise it from the ashes and make it the finest in their country. It's what I do. This place was to be a challenge to me - it's already good, but I was to make it better. As it turns out, singers here have no talent. But that will not beat me. No, I shall succeed yet. And that is why I called you."

She swallowed hard. "Please, Erik...no…"

"I have already trained you. You know everything, and you are a very good singer. Some one must have heard your voice. Yet how they kept those two cows above you I do not know..."

Her eyebrow rose. Cows? This is what he called women now?

"They did because Monsieur Smith heard me only once, and it was while I was weary and scared. And crying...but it worked how I wished it. I don't want to have a repeat of Paris. I want to be a simple chorus girl. Away from the memories..."

"Nonsense! I will have no such thing! I trained you for many years to be a diva, not a rat. You will sing as my lead soprano, and together we will make this the finest opera house in the world."

"I don't want it." Christine said stubbornly.

"But you will have it." He replied to her, an icy tone adding on top of his stern one.

"You cannot make me sing, Erik!" She exclaimed.

He stood up so fast the bench fell to the ground with a harsh noise. "I can! I can make you do whatever I want! I am the great Erik Destler now! More influential than some nobody at an opera house with a bad reputation for its workers! You shall sing for me!"

"What would you do if I didn't?" She dared to ask in a whisper, truly afraid of his temper now.

"I will reveal you. Shame you. You will be forced back to France to face that foolish boy who will no longer be your fiancé. You'll put everyone to shame. All but me. Your life will be ruined."

Her eyes went wide. Would he really do such a thing? The Erik she knew wouldn't, but she didn't know this one. This one was music hungry in a different way – he was going to make up for all the lost time with it. With her.

"Please Erik, don't do this to me. Don't make me do another horrid decision! I've disappointed you before-"

"Oh, don't worry. You won't be disappointing me again."

* * *

**A/N: I'm running out of prewritten chapters. I better get writing soon! But all of your reviews are inspiring me to post...**

**Please review! They all make my day!**


	12. The Ranks Cannot be Equal

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

The next day Christine woke late, which startled her. Always did someone knock on her door to wake her - it was how it was done! She'd knock on the next person's door, and so forth. But it was late now... 

She pulled on her leotard, tights and skirt, then picked up her Pointe ballet shoes and knocked on the next door urgently. But no one was there. They were already awake. She knocked on another's. Everyone else was awake! What had happened? She ran fast down the hallways, her loose hair flowing behind her. She stumbled in to the dance room, out of breath.

"Aminta? What are you doing here?" Madame Clairvet asked.

"What am I doing? I'm here for the lesson! I'm sorry I was late, no one woke me for some reason and-"

"No one woke you because you weren't scheduled to come here."

Christine tilted her head to the side, confused. "What...do you mean?"

"I was told today that you were to no longer take ballet lessons. You are now to be only a singer."

Her eyes went wide. Erik! Erik had done this! She dropped her shoes and started running barefoot again to Erik's door. Not bothering to knock, she threw open the door and hurried in. "How could you! How could you do such a thing to me?" She yelled, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. What she didn't see before her outburst was not only was Erik there, sitting on his bench, but Mr. Smith standing not far off. He looked at Erik in surprise.

"Mademoiselle Giry, please wait outside. I'll deal with you in a moment." Erik said calmly. But she refused this, not caring about her manager. He had no say to her now - now that she'd be diva.

"You took me out of dance! That was how I was making my living!" She cried.

"I had your salary raised. You will now be getting the two soprano's paychecks as well, as was the deal I was trying to just seal off for you." He said in subdued annoyance.

"But I liked dancing." She whispered, bowing her head.

"And now you will learn to like being a diva again."

"Again?" Mr. Smith mumbled in his puzzlement.

"Leave us." Erik demanded to the man, pointing towards the door. When Mr. Smith left, Erik looked back to Christine.

"I won't be having these outbursts, you hear me? You are not another Carlotta! I have spoiled you before, but not now. You will do as I ask. This includes quitting ballet. You will have more than enough money to pull you through. And if you don't, I'll take care of that for you and get you more."

"But I've grown to really like it, Erik. I like to dance." She said, wiping a tear away from the corner of her mouth. "It stopped hurting."

"You like dancing or you like your partner?" He asked in a growling tone. But then they both looked in surprise, for Erik hadn't meant for that to slip.

"George? I do, of course! Why wouldn't I... But Erik, I am still engaged to Raoul. If not in his heart still, it's in mine. Remember that." She said, turning to leave, but he caught her hand.

"I expect you to be the student you once were before. And I shall be the teacher I once was-"

"You could never be that! My teacher...my wonderful, beloved teacher...he was an angel. Now as you are before me, I see that you are quite the opposite. I await my angel's return before I could ever be the eager student I once was. I'd rather bruise and hurt myself over and over trying to learn ballet again before I be that for even a day."

And with that, she yanked her arm out of his grip and started running.

"Just remember - I control you now! The tables are quite turned, my Aminta! You are still mine!" He yelled after her. She put her hands over her ears and ran faster.

* * *

Christine stood angrily before Erik as he commanded her to sing this song and that, over and over. Their lesson seemed to never end, but both kept getting more and more frustrated with the other. 

"Stop! Stop, please! Why do you not sing, as I know you can? Where is that beautiful voice?" Erik asked, looking at her in annoyance.

She crossed her arms.

"I'm singing just fine!"

"For a dead cat! You must sing better! How you used to! You've only stopped your lessons a year ago - you can not have possibly forgotten everything I've taught you."

"You taught me nothing, Monsieur. My angel did." She said, turning her back to him.

"What have I done to you?" He yelled angrily. "Why are you so mad at me? I have only looked out for you! I raised your salary by a threefold! You have enough money to eat out at every meal, keep nice clothes on your back and decorate your room. I have you being my center diva that will surely cause you great fame if you would only let it. Pray, tell me Mademoiselle, what have I done so wrong to offend you that you'd throw all this away?"

She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall. "Just that. None of this is for me! Don't think I'm so childish as to believe that. Besides, you said so yourself - you're in this to raise your fame. I am only your tool that you cope with until you go off to your next opera house to train some other singer."

He shrugged; then nodded. "Good girl, you've grown up a bit since you've been gone. You're right, it's true. I'm using you. But at the same damn time, you're using me. As you have for years. I never expected a single thing in return. But now I ask for it. Do you give it? No. You act like a child."

"You just said I was mature." She whispered, looking away.

"Again, why do you act as such? I don't deserve for you to be angry with me. If anything, I should be more than furious with you."

"What did I do to you?" She exclaimed. It was he who dragged her in this. It was he who kept ruining her life!

"You ran away! Do you know what you have done to everyone? Madame Giry is frantic, but nothing compared to whom you called your friend. Meg is beside herself with worry. And that boy of yours...he's not even in his right mind anymore! All because you wanted to run off to New York and have your fun."

"I wasn't having fun! Does this look like fun?" She shouted angrily, hot tears welling once again. "Fun is lounging in a mansion with servants at my feet and being called a Comtesse! Fun is being respected for once in your life, Erik!"

"You think I don't know?" He asked softly. "But if you like it so much, why aren't you there now? Why aren't you doing all those things right at this moment instead of slaving in horrid, run down place?"

She looked away, not ready to reveal such a thing yet.

"If you won't even answer, you might as well continue on singing. Go on, sing more. And this time, do it right."

She inwardly groaned, stepping back and straightening up. She sang much better, but her heart wasn't in it, and her mind was far, far away.

"Beginning of the aria from Hannibal." Erik demanded next.

She tilted her head to the side, not understanding. So far, they had only practiced his own work that she had sung over the years. But Hannibal?

"Why so?" She asked, leaning against the wall as her body begged for a break.

Erik gritted her teeth at first, not wanting to have to explain. "My work will not be finished in time for the next scheduled show, and I will not be rushed. Therefore we must prepare for Hannibal in case that is what we put on. But these American fools here have never put on Hannibal in this theater, so they are all frantic and running around blindly to get this ready. And you must get ready as well. You have played Elise once before - you shall play it again."

She was lost in thought for a moment, and then he requested the aria again. He wanted her to sing Think of Me. But how? How could she when so many emotions were attached to that song? Many times Raoul would passionately whisper in her ear how he fell so deeply in love with her when he first heard her sing that on stage, as if it was written for them. Erik had taken her to his lair the night of her performance, the song still stuck in her throat.

How? How could she sing it again?

"Erik, I can't..."

"Christine... Please, just sing it for me. Don't even think about singing it on stage. Just for me."

"And who are you?" She whispered. "Are you my angel now? A ghost? A phantom? A murderer or a talented magician? Or musician? Which is it? You change so quickly before my eyes that I can not keep up with you."

"Sing." He simply growled.

"So you are Erik Destler. I feel no need to heed to your commands. I am Amita Giry. I am a dancer. I cannot see why I am here with you." Christine told him, knowing that it would entice his anger but not caring.

"Damn you Christine! Why can't you damn well do as you're told! Listen to me!" His arms pinned her to the wall. He shook her for emphasis. "I _control_ you. I could reveal you to _all_ of New York. Do you think de Chagny would be pleased? Take you back in his arms and tell you he love you? Now, don't think that I wouldn't do it. I _would_." The look in his eyes assured her, but her fear was starting to dissipate. She pushed him away.

"But you wouldn't. You would not make a success. You need _me_." She told him, haughtily. He pushed her down.

She straightened, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. _'Just don't think.' _She said in her mind.

'_Don't think about all that is attached to the song. It's only words, nothing more. Just sing it.'_

And she did. Somehow, she managed to get through it. But by the end of her performance, she wondered if Erik had. His head was bowed, his hands gripping the top of the organ and he breathed hard.

"Erik?" She whispered in confusion.

"You're finished for today." He said in a harsh, low voice.

"But...but we've only just begun! We have quite a few hours to work-"

"You're done!" He growled.

"Erik...what's wrong?" She said softly, slowly advancing upon him before his head flew up, his face red and twisted in frustration.

"You don't have to pretend you are worried about me!" he shouted. "Just leave me to my darkness and go. I'll work with you more tomorrow."

Startled, she quickly walked backwards until she hit the door. She turned and fled, closing the door loudly as she ran to her room.

* * *

**A/N: Updating! And thanks for all of your support!**

**Please review if you have the time.**


	13. Battle of Wills

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine stayed in her room the next day, refusing to come out. Just to test what he would do. After all, he wasn't really above her now, was he? 

But less than an hour after breakfast times were over, she heard a knock upon her door.

"Yes?" She called out, sitting at her vanity as she brushed her long ringlets.

"Mr. Destler wishes your immediate presence." Came the voice of a shaky Mr. Smith.

"You may tell him that if he wants me there, he may say so himself. I don't accept messengers."

"Miss-" He started to say in a scolding tone, but she cut him off.

"Your business is through, Monsieur."

"But is that really what you wish me to tell him? Ordering him to come himself?"

"You may. But do say so through the door. I don't believe M. Destler knows the meaning of not killing the messenger."

She heard a nervous sigh from him, the retreating footsteps.

Her chest fell in dismay, knowing she sounded too much like a pampered diva, but was she not in training to be one? If she must sing for Erik, shouldn't she reap all the rewards?

Within ten minutes time, there was another knock. "Miss Giry..." It was Mr. Smith.

"Why are you here, Monsieur?" She said in a nice tone, yet underlined with '_please get to the point quickly'_.

"Mr. Destler says that he is busy at the moment and wants you to come without his personal escort."

"If he is too busy to come, then he is too busy to give my lesson." She stated curtly.

"Miss Giry, really, what are you trying to get out of this but more trouble?"

"I will have no trouble, Monsieur. I am your diva. I am what brings you more business then you have ever dreamed of. I cannot get in to trouble."

"To me, this is true. But you're testing dangerous, delicate bridges with Mr. Destler."

"If he is incapable of controlling his anger, then I shouldn't be with him anyway. Is this not true?"

His answer to her argument was only another sigh, more retreating steps.

She lied down on her bed and waited for Mr. Smith to come back with another report, his words lingering in her mind. Why was she doing this? To prove he couldn't control her? Why prove it? She already knew he could so easily. He had done so before when he was nothing but a lonely ghost with his seductive voice. Why did she think he couldn't do it now when he was powerful?

Suddenly, the door slammed open to reveal Erik in a state of rage. She gasped and nearly fell off of her bed.

"Why do you disobey me?" He roared. She felt her whole body begin to tremble. She was playing with fire, and now she had to hide her matches.

"I... I don't feel well. My throat aches terribly." She spoke in a whispery, hoarse tone, adding a few convincing chest coughs.

"Oh?" He said, advancing in to look hard on her.

"Yes. And you told me never to attempt singing when my throat hurt."

He looked at her, his red face lessening until it was his normal shade. Then he shrugged.

"You're right. You shouldn't sing. But we need to practice, so I must make sure you get better. I shall take care of you today."

A chill ran through her, knowing that somewhere in his genius mind, a plan had hatched, and it wasn't to her benefit.

He carefully pulled the covers over her and tucked her in. "I'll be back shortly."

When she opened her mouth to ask why, he quickly shook his head. "No talking. Your voice needs rest."

When he went out the door with the promise to return, the feeling he left surrounding her really did make her feel ill.

* * *

"Erik, please no more. Please!" She begged him, but he shook his head and kept at it. "Please?" 

Finally he finished and handed her the steaming cup. "Drink. Quiet!"

"I have been drinking it! I've already had five cups today! Please, I don't want anymore!"

"You need to get better. We need today's practices. So until you feel better enough to accompany me back to the stage to practice, you will keep drinking. Again, quiet. Or I will be forced to gag you."

It wasn't a matter about today's rehearsal. It wasn't about singing, or her throat. It was a battle of wills; who could stand their ground longer. Erik was very stubborn. Usually Christine was too, but sniffing the drink in her hands and knowing what was coming made her stomach churn and her head have second thoughts. She didn't know what he had made this out of, but she was sure that it was of the rankest stuff he could find, though it did open her throat and nose, making them very clear.

Everything in her loved to sing. Now as she looked in to the murky water, she wondered if it wouldn't be so bad to sing for him.

She looked up to be his questioning gaze, seeing how far she would go. It was obvious by the look in his eyes that he was already impressed, though Christine couldn't see this.

"I'm sorry about what I did to you." She whispered. "I'm sorry I left you like I did. I was too scared to think about how it would affect you."

"Of course. I understand." He said, his voice gruff. "Just like you didn't think about how it would devastate everyone when you ran away, right?"

Her eyes went wide. "Did I hurt you then too?"

"Me? Oh no, Christine, not me. I knew you had fled like a child. I didn't mind. But everyone around me did. That boy of yours is so crushed he looks like he will surely die at any moment if you keep away. Antoinette Giry is desperate to find you; afraid you are long dead. And the little Giry cries herself to sleep from worry."

"I thought you didn't care about them?"

"No, but everyone thought you did, and that's what's what counts. You cared, yet you left without anyone's consent. I just thought you might want to know what your reward was for your foolishness."

Her reward? She bowed her head, avoiding his gaze.

"You're angry with me because of it." She said in light surprise.

"I am. I was a part of your raising. I helped in giving you manners and how to act. And look at what you did? I'm sure Mme. Giry would feel the same if she wasn't so worried. You made me look bad. Not to ignorant people, but to me. You made a disgrace of yourself, and therefore you disgrace me."

"I'm sorry." She replied, barely above a whisper but heartfelt.

"It doesn't matter anymore. You won't do it to me again, this I'll make sure of."

Those words seemed to wrap around her body and constrict, as if she was closed in, forced in a cage... She felt him rising and her lowering, in status with those words.

So she drank. The taste turned her mouth in to a disgusted frown, her throat begging to gag it back, but she refused and swallowed it hard.

Erik saw this. His shoulders fell and he looked away with disappointment. The status had equaled once again, but it was impossible to keep it that way. Erik had to leave either beneath or above her. It just couldn't work as equals. He'd never allow it.

And then, she gave in. "I'll sing for you. I'll sing, just please take this away from me!" She exclaimed, pushing the teacup in to his gloved hands. He tried to hide his smile but failed. "Alright. Then I'll leave you to get ready. I'm going to take care of this and I'll come back for you." He directed. But she stayed in bed and wondered what she just did. Seeing that she wasn't making any moves to get herself ready, Erik, now at the door, held up the cup of tea. "Or would you rather finish your tea first?"

"No!" She exclaimed, her legs immediately hitting the floor. She reached over for a brush, for now all her rambunctious curls needed tending to again.

He nodded in satisfaction, then left, closing the door softly.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews! Please review again if you have time!**

**Welcome back from camp Brie!!!**

**On another note, I was told that the swearing in the last chapter was offense. I apologize to them, and anyone else who is offended by them. If you wish I can give you my reasons.**


	14. Reputations to Lose

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Ever since Christine agreed to let Erik be her teacher again, she had no idea what she was getting in to. He once more became the strict, demanding instructor, and worked her harder than before. There would be no fooling around, for obviously she had done enough of that in his eyes. 

"Again." He commanded, his voice growing gruff from repeated commands. She sighed.

"I haven't eaten lunch yet. Couldn't we eat?"

Erik glanced up at her, deciding. At first he felt quite angry that she would even suggest a thing, seeing that they were just getting somewhere, but then he remembered that he never got hungry, but that didn't mean Christine was the same.

"Alright." he said reluctantly, standing up.

"You're going with?" She asked in her surprise.

"Would you rather me not?" A stern gleam came in to his eyes, and she seemed to shrink in front of it as she quickly shook her head.

"Of course not. It would be a pleasure." She lied quickly, then opened the door and started walking out as he followed.

* * *

"Will you not at least tell me how I am doing?" She asked as the waiter left as they sat in the nearby café, _Maison de la Alouette_. 

"Do you want to end up like Carlotta? With a big ego and no thoughts in her head but complete foolishness?"

Christine shook her head as she looked down, trying to hide her smile. In his own way, as she had learned from her childhood, that was him telling her that she was doing very well, and he was simply refraining from telling her. He had always wanted to shield her from her own ego. To be keep her good, kind, and innocent. So far, it had worked. But she only wished he would compliment her a little more. How she had always yearned to know what he thought! How she was doing! If her voice was good enough for such trained ears.

The waiter came back with their food. "Voici votre repas, Monsieur, Mademoiselle."

"Merci Monsieur." Christine answered quietly. He set down the plates, bowed, and left them.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Christine began eating her meal. Erik left his untouched, occasionally partaking in a sip of wine.

"When did you...when did you leave Paris?" She asked, breaking the quiet and suddenly shy.

"A few days after you." Came his short reply.

"Did...how was..."

"Hmmm?" Erik's gaze didn't leave the wine bottle.

"Nothing unusual was happening in Paris, when you left?" She squeaked, regretting how feeble her words sounded as soon as they left her mouth.

Erik sighed at her pathetic attempt. "You needn't sweet talk and act like you are interested in my affairs to get the information you really want. Everyone was a wreck when I left. Paris was in an uproar, officers trying in vain to carry on with their vast search. There's not much else. As for now... Your guess is as good as mine." He said with a shrug. "Why? Are you worried that the good Comte has convinced himself you are dead and has moved on to another?"

"The Comte? You mean Raoul. He's the Vicomte! His older brother, Philippe, the one who was always around La Sorelli's dressing room, he is the Comte.

"The late Comte perished the night of the Opera disaster." He wouldn't specify how, but Christine's mind was easily convinced it was of the fire's doing. Erik felt no need to dissuade her notion.

Christine was taken aback, tears stinging her eyes as she looked back at him, hurt. "But no! He wouldn't… I never said..." She started to say, but stopped. Could he see right through her? That he had hit her hard, right where it hurt the most. "You don't...think so, do you?"

Erik threw his head back and laughed at her. "My Aminta, look at you now! Really, could you be truly asking for reassurance from such a pessimist as I?"

She bowed her head, willing her tears to stay, yet being unsuccessful. But this seemed to shatter something inside of Erik.

"I don't understand. If you love him so much... If you fear for you being replaced... Well, why are you here? Why are you Aminta Giry? Why torture yourself? You certainly have no need to."

She bit her lip; then shook her head. "I can't tell you." She whispered hoarsely.

Erik suddenly stood up and hurried to her side, forcing her to stand and look him in the eye. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" His voice was forceful and demanding, his concern overwhelming her. "He does not deserve to touch an angel like you. If he touched you Christine, I shall kill him within an instant!"

But she calmly shook her head. "He never hurt me, Erik. He's never been anything but the best towards me." She said with just enough passion to make him convinced. It seemed like he might have been even a bit disappointed. Sitting gracefully back in his seat again, he continued staring at her, ignoring his meal, not saying another word. But Christine sat in wonder, not missing the fact that he had dropped all formalities and called her by her real name, but this time, not in anger.

He cared. How could he possible care? After all she had done. And now, leaving Raoul, it was her own fault if she was replaced. Her fear of the new life that they would have lead was far less than her love than Raoul.

Or was it? It her love for Raoul could overcome her fear and pain, why was she here?

* * *

"Better! You must be better, Aminta. Look, your posture is terrible! Just because you are in America does not mean you must slouch like Americans. Shoulders erect. Breath deeper. You know these things!" 

His words weren't as harsh as his hurtful, icy tone as he grew quickly weary. Oh, how could he sit there and do such?

"If you wore a corset, perhaps you'd realize that bending a bit helps to actually breath." She retorted angrily. "And it makes breathing deeply near impossible. I do what I can in such."

"The corset? That wretched thing is holding you back? What idiotic sense is this? If it is truly the cause of your lacking, then by all means, don't wear it anymore!" He replied carelessly.

She looked at him, completely stunned. "America or France... They still wear corsets!" She exclaimed, appalled by his statement.

"In Persia they don't don such silly things."

"I'm not in Persia!"

"Obviously..." He groaned, straightening his music sheets.

"Why do you say that as such?"

He sighed. "Because, Aminta, if you were in Persia, you'd be shunned for speaking to a man like such." He told her, and then quickly changed the subject. "Now if that is enough of a history lesson, may we continue? If you wish to keep the corset as is, then you best work through your problems and perfect what I say with it on as if you didn't."

The music started. Christine gritted her teeth down for a moment in her anger, then did her best to sing to his satisfactory.

* * *

Erik became crueler by the day. Christine did her best to be corporative, but he refused to let up. Heated arguments ensued, often ending with her crying and running out of the music room, Erik sending out his hot-tempered threats. She didn't want to sing, and he wanted fame. The team seemed to no longer fit, no longer meant to be. 

Before, oh before, it was wonderful! He focused on her personally. Loved her, wanted her happy. He was concerned for her reputation, not his. And she... She loved to sing. Not for her, not for money, not for anyone else's fame, but for her angel. Her angel that all her dedication went to. Her angel that was now forever gone.

"This isn't working!" Christine finally cried out in frustration after he yelled at her again.

"No, it's not. Do it right!"

"I can't! I don't understand it and you aren't patient enough to teach me right. You're a wretched teacher, Erik! You weren't once, but you sure are now!" She sobbed out, her face twisted in anger.

"You once didn't think that you were too good for such places. Why do you care what happens? You got a rich Comte to go back to when you tire of such things. It's you whom is no longer working right, Aminta. Not me."

"That's not true." She whispered, feeling an ache in her heart.

"It is. And you know it is. You have a back up plan now. Somewhere else to run to. A better life to lead. You don't sing to eat. I made you a diva - they pay you well. You don't have to worry about being thrown on the streets on having nowhere to turn. It has spoiled you completely, and I find that you are too hardened now in your ways to teach. But teach I shall. You must do this performance, therefore you may as well soften up a bit and forget your beloved France."

"Forgetting is part of the reason I came here in the first place, after all." She added in a soft voice, her eyes downcast.

"Forget what?" Erik gently probed, suddenly calmed. How he at least wanted to crack this mystery! He had quite the feeling that if he knew, this strange barrier between them would crumble. For while that wall was up, he couldn't see her. He could only see a part of her - shallow and everything not right. He wanted to see the perfect side of her - the pure side.

She shook her head. "Just to... Forget things that have plagued me greatly. I thought if I went far enough away, I'd have too many things to think about to let me be plagued any longer. But that didn't work..."

"It hasn't? Why is that?"

She looked up at him, her doe brown eyes meeting his harder, squinting ones that strained to understand.

"Because circumstances that I did not want have occurred by unseen events that haven taken place. Am I dismissed?"

Erik's head cocked to the side, still trying to see through her words.

"I doubt your stubbornness of today will let us progress any further. You might as well."

She quickly turned upon her heel and walked out of the room, leaving Erik to his ponderings. Had he been part of the circumstances? Had he been the unseen event?

Shaking his head, he wondered why he cared. Her petty problems didn't concern him or his need to resurrect this place. Or did it?

More though, he wanted to know how it could be that he was able to be so strict with her despite her pleas, but one mention of her pain from France made that anger freeze in it's place.

* * *

Nadir Khan had come to America. After that fateful night at the Opera House he was determined to follow Erik. Only for Mlle. Daaé's protection. 

Erik was unpredictable to most people. But he had known him longer than others could boast. Of those who were alive – of course.

When he let go, for the feeble affections she had bestowed upon him, he knew that she was safe. But after he left for Austria, he kept a closer eye on him. So far, he had made no admit to contact Christine. But who knew what the future held?

He suddenly had a renewed interest in music. Music was the bond between the two of them. It was also the bond between the genius and the phantom, the two conflicting personalities of Erik. He knew if the arrogant Phantom came back, it would be brought on with all of the attention that would be bestowed upon him. And were the demanding phantom to come, he would not hesitate to take back what he believed to be his.

As soon as he saw the headlines of M. Destler in America he knew he needed to be there. He had easily followed Mlle. Daaé's departure to the New World.

Some may say that he should have informed the Comte and the Girys of her location but he thought otherwise. Many years as the Daroga had taught him it was best to leave the lovers to solve their own affairs. And the Comte and his fiancée's spat was none of his business to meddle in. Who knew of Mlle. Daaé's heart but herself?

He would not interfere unless Erik showed renewed interest in Mlle. Daaé. He was certain they'd meet. Fate always seemed to taunt Erik. But Nadir would not allow it.

They had managed to thwart the phantom once before. And this time he would not let Erik ruin his own potential. He knew now that he could do. Many Opera Houses could now show for it. But he knew that it was likely Erik's love had not waned and he had to save them both from themselves.

They now both had reputations to lose if he was unsuccessful. And much more.

* * *

**A/N: Here is another update for you all! I won't be updating this weekend because I leave for my uncle's home up north. Hope this chapter will satisfy you all. If you review soon I might be tempted to post another chapter before I go. ;D**

**Please review!**


	15. A Surprise and It's Aftermath

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Yet the next day, all kindness and pity had vanished when Erik sprung a new surprise upon unsuspecting Christine. 

"You want me to..." She stumbled, her eyes wide, body lightly trembling.

Erik sighed impatiently. "For the third time now: the gala is a week from tonight. And you shall be in attendance. You shall sing, one song is all, sometime during the night - I have yet to decide the best timing."

She shook her head violently. "No! No Erik, you cannot do this to me! I don't want to sing there! On stage...at night...yes, but not at galas! I don't even attend galas anymore!" Christine's pleas fell upon deaf ears.

"You liked them just fine in France." He reminded her, an eyebrow perked.

"I did. They were away from all the patrons, with the rest of the cast and crew. The little people. They were wonderful breaks from the usual work and practice. Until the last one I went to. I have yet to recover from such. I don't wish to go to this one either - especially if you shall be in attendance as well."

Erik let out a light chuckle, basking in the memory. "And here I was, thinking we were quite the sensation. But no matter - that was a different time, different people. That was between Christine Daaé and the Phantom. You are Aminta Giry and I am Erik Destler. It's a different time, different place... Different people. And you shall sing."

"I don't-"

"You shall. Monsieur Smith has already confirmed it."

Christine let out a cry, looking defeated and angered. "That's not fair, Erik! I am not your puppet for you to do anything you wish or to be your title's slave!"

"Yet if you wish to keep your good name..."

"And if you wish to keep yours..."

Erik shook his head. "Your threat is empty, Aminta."

"How? If I reveal you...oh, you have much more to lose than I!"

"And this is where you are wrong. Yes, I have a horrid reputation. I've been called a Phantom, murderer, and ghost. Yet it's what I've lived with all my life. I've been on the run from these types of people for as long as I can remember. If you were to turn me in, I'd simply be on the run again. I'd simply hide away. While I'm at it, do you know of any young, naïve girls with musical talent? Perhaps I should try Spain or Scotland next..."

Christine was just about to let out her fury again when Erik continued on, not even noticing her face.

"But you, my Aminta...you have much to lose. You care about your reputation, about the Comte's reputation. For if you shame yourself, you shame him. He loses face. You shame the Populaire. You shame too many, and you would never do that. You have too large a heart to do any of those things. Yet as you know, I have none."

"That's for sure." She whispered. Her eyes were now filled with tears.

"As long as you are now aware of this, answer me. Do you agree to sing?"

She nodded. What other choice did she have? "What song? Perhaps something from Hannibal? Or Il Muto...perhaps that would be nice? Or maybe-"

"The Red Rose." Erik said in a low voice.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I said."

"But I do not know of the song you speak of." Christine feigned ignorance.

"Best you learn it soon - you sing it in front of thousands next week."

"But it's a lullaby!" She cried out, desperate for any song but that, dropping her façade, seeing as it had no affect on Erik.

"It's a beautiful melody. And you'll sing it in French, not English. They won't understand the words anyway. They'll just hear your voice and the tune... They'll have to expand the theater for your first performance."

Christine paused, bowing her head as she thought it over. Then she looked at him again, a tear slipping slowly down her cheek. "Please...anything but that song. I'll sing for you... But not that."

"Yet that was your favorite song when you were little."

"It was, but only because I didn't know what it meant. You never explained it to me!"

"I didn't I had to." He replied simply.

"I don't want to sing it, Erik. Please, anything but this song! Any of them!"

He opened his mouth to say something, but she quickly let out a yell.

"Not that one either!"

Erik turned away from her as he chuckled lightly, hoping she wouldn't notice his grin. "Then it's The Red Rose."

"I still don't want to."

"Monsieur Smith heard it already. Loved it. He doesn't know the real words, but he thought it would fit perfectly. It's already set in motion."

She sighed, knowing that this was just another argument that she would end up losing. What happened to the days of the past when he let her have whatever she wished?

* * *

**A/N: I meant to update before I left, but computer troubles and last minute packing didn't give me time. And my aunt, uncle and cousin have just driven in. I'll make up for it as soon as possible. Sorry for such a short chapter.**

**Thanks for all your reviews! They're helping me write the new chapters.**


	16. Borrowed Plumage

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

A week passed quicker than Christine could have thought was possible. Nevertheless - the gala was indeed here. All week Christine came up with excuses not to go, but Erik fixed every one of them, to her dismay. Her last had been that she hasn't a suitable outfit for the occasion. And here she was, the clock ticking away the hour she had left to get to the gala, and she was still without one. 

She was just about to go to Erik and tell him that she couldn't possibly go, but then there was a knock on the door. Upon opening it, she found a maid with a thick outfit cover over her arms.

"This is for you, Miss Giry. Sent by Mr. Destler." She said simply, handing it over and bowing her head before walking away.

Now Christine quickly shut the door with a kick of her foot; then laid the outfit cover down on the bed, quickly unzipping it in eager anticipation. Then scolded herself. _What a stupid girl you are! If you wished for dresses you should have stayed home with Raoul. You came here to say goodbye to your past life, and come to terms with your future, not to become a frivolous diva!_

She continued, this time, with controlled keenness. Erik had gotten her a dress. And what a dress at that!

It was slender and of an off blue color – dark and luminous, though it had so many dangling crystals upon it that it made it look particularly white as well, the color changing depending on the light.

The sleeves were off the shoulder and of a very light material, so it felt as if they were not there at all. High-heeled shoes that matched the dress perfectly were in the bottom of the bag.

Christine quickly shed her old clothes and put the lovely dress on. Oh, how she glowed in it! The contrasting of her creamy skin upon the pure white and dark blue was simply breathtaking. And it fit as if it was especially tailored for her.

Was this a sign?

Marie came to her room, interrupting her thoughts and offered to do her hair.

Christine gratefully accepted.

Marie quickly put up her hair in a royal bun, piled on the top of her head with curls cascading down in a beautiful fashion.

"You really should have a necklace for such a neckline." Marie said, tapping her chin.

"I don't own any."

"I do, but nothing that would fit such a dress. Well, you're beautiful enough to pull this off alone. So you best get going - I hear that Erik wants you to be early to prepare your singing session. Oh, I'm very excited to hear you, Aminta!"

Her eyes were glowing in contrast to Christine's scared, skittish ones. Marie noticed her nervousness and offered her an arm. "Would you like me to escort you? I haven't a date either."

"No George?"

"Not officially, anyway. We're to meet up once we're there."

"You mean... Right down the hallway?"

Marie let out a laugh. "Oui... Down the hallway."

* * *

Christine's eyes were soon dazzling away the fright. Oh, the ballroom was so beautiful! She felt out of place in a sea of rich, fancy people. After all, she had only ever been a ballet rat and a lowly singer...right? 

She bit her lip, winding her fingers in and out of each other. All she wanted to do was turn back and run. But as soon as she was thinking about doing that very thing, a cool hand was laid upon her arm.

"You look...well." She sighed. Not even a good compliment tonight? But since when had she cared? _All along. You've cared all along._ She pushed those thoughts away and greeted him in return.

"Hello Erik. You look well yourself." It was as much as lie as his had been. For Erik looked incredibly handsome. He had taken great care to look good, and it had surely paid off. In fact, she had to hide a gasp when her gaze first fell upon his face.

"Shall we just stare at each other all night or will you allow me to assist you to where you shall be singing?"

Christine sighed and allowed herself to be dragged onto the stairway. The grand staircase was really that, grand. Even in her luxurious dress she felt out of place. And as Erik left her she didn't turn.

* * *

**A/N: Here's the first part of the double update. Sorry it's so short. Didn't know what to add.**

**Please review!**


	17. The Gala

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

She closed her eyes. It had been over two hours since most had been here, little over a half since she had been. Yet her nerves had not yet slowed. Instead, they multiplied until she wondered if she was doomed to faint. 

"I don't think I can do this anymore." She whispered with tears in her voice and eyes. "Erik...please..."

"There's no backing out now." He said firmly.

"But I don't want to do this! I never did! You forced me to say so, but I don't want to perform! Please, don't make me, Erik! I beg you!"

Oh, how it pierced his heart to hear her pleas! His mind quickly flashed back in to the happy days of when he was the walls of the Opera House, teaching innocence how to sing. Funny, was it not, that when he was a mere Phantom, a wanted, hated man - he was happier? Shaking his head and ignoring these thoughts, he focused on her. She was no longer the willing obedience that she once was. No longer the girl whom he's give his life for. She was a singer. A singer in New York that had his reputation in her hands.

"You're singing. Please do not ask me again."

"Oh, but I can't, Erik! I simply can't! This is different than on stage! On stage, it's class. It's opera! Those who oppose of it are thought simply uncultured. Therefore they don't complain. But this is just me! Simply me, without the reputation of standard opera to stand behind me. I feel naked upon the eyes of all these judgmental people, and I hate that feeling! I don't want to feel that way! Please, let me step down on this. Please, Erik! I won't ask a single thing ever again. I'll do whatever you wish me to do, and I won't argue or be difficult! Please!"

But he didn't relent. "You shall sing, and you shan't ask me again." He told her solidly. He turned and walked away.

"Please Erik!" She shrieked finally, forgetting herself. He stopped in his tracks because everyone else did, looking upon what had happened. She stood at the top of the stairwell, her face soaked in tears that kept coming. She looked the role of a tragic angel.

Erik turned to her and told her, "Do not shriek, it harms the vocal cords and is most unpleasant." He turned without waiting for her reply, simply walked in the opposite direction.

She wanted to shriek. She wanted to hurt her voice. She wanted to make him march back up the stairs and demand and to sing, then make him understand why she couldn't. But she couldn't. It was a slap in the face, ironic, on how satirically the roles were reversed. But what similar characteristics the roles would share had yet to be uncovered.

She turned, defeated. With her shoulders slouched forward, she retreated slowly up the stairs to wait for when she would sing.

* * *

She didn't see Erik until it was time. The announcement had been made soon after she fled to her hiding space that the Miss Aminta Giry would be singing a solo song tonight upon the fourth hour of the night. 

And when the clock chimed loudly that it was time, Erik walked up the stairs and met her. "It is time."

She looked away, her cheeks still not dried.

"Come now, Aminta! You have messed up the paint on your face! Your eyes are as red as your cheeks from your fit. I'll send someone to quickly fix your face paints."

And with that, he disappeared again. His voice was casual, detached. Letting out a fresh sob, she awaited her time.

* * *

Her porcelain face was painted again, her dress smoothed out. Mr. Smith come out and announced that it was finally her time to sing. She walked out slowly, exaggerating every step in order to stall a little longer. She looked out to the crowds that watched her anxiously. 

And then she spotted Erik. He was directly in front of her stage, his gloved fingers gripping the wood. She walked to center stage. Erik quickly signaled the music.

"You can do it." He told her, looking up in to her eyes.

She shook her head in dismay and looked at him with pure misery before changing her view. And then, she sang out.

"_When the red rose rises to greet the dawn,_

_She stretches; she reaches, trying to greet the morn!_

_Yet little black ribbons keep her from leaving, going, gone..._

_But rose fights against the chains until she's battered, beaten torn!_

_The little rose begs to flee away, from her dungeons, prisons, caves_

_The only thoughts within her are that of freedom's way!_

_She only waits for her savior; it's she, whom he will save,_

_He'll cut her binds and spring her back into the light of day._

_She'll leave the black ribbons, cut, shattered, scorned_

_Never knowing it's great love for her, a requited love unborn!_

_Never knowing how he tried to set her free, as she sworn her petals pinned._

_Its dark, great love shunned, now scattered to the wind..."_

The music stopped, and Christine felt utterly hollow and lost. She hated Erik more now than she ever had in all her life. Without a glance in his direction, she stiffly walked off stage, ignoring the chants of an encore.

A single tear fell down her face, noticed by those only carefully studying her face. It was quickly followed by another, and another. Until her make up was a mess and she began running down the hall.

* * *

Nadir had arrived in New York. He entered the Opera House one day during rehearsals. He overheard Erik talking to a manager. As soon as he left he approached the manager. 

He quickly offered a patronage. He was suspicious of him, a foreigner. But as soon as he showed him money, and his ring of his family in Persia he was quickly accepted.

And that's how he arrived here. In the audience of Amita Giry. Also known as Christine Daaé. Information of her location was ten thousand francs from the Comte de Chagny.

She was singing. And if he was correct, a lullaby. But she did not want to be there. He saw the looks exchanged between Erik and her. They were of a professional nature only

He wondered whether this was only a façade or if Erik was as aloof in private as he was in public.

Clearly though, Christine would reject all affection from Erik. He represented all that was chaos in her life. She would welcome Erik's immediate departure from her life.

As she finished singing she walked off, tears beginning to stream down her face. But few noticed this. They only wanted the happy young diva that had delighted them with her voice and pleasing face.

He would do anything to bring the Comte and his fiancée back together.

* * *

**A/N: The song is credited to Gerik's Angel. Second part of the double update.**

**Please review!**


	18. Confusion Torments All

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine tore the dress from her clammy skin, her fingers trembling. Quickly she dressed in a white nightgown, keeping her feet bare as they sent chills through her body from the cold floors. Just as she turned to the bed, there was a knock. 

"Don't ignore me, Aminta. It's just me."

Christine sighed in relief, opening the door. "Hello Marie. Shouldn't you be at the gala still?"

"George seems to be coming down with something. He had to leave early, and therefore there is little for me to do. I feel like I don't fit in anyway among such greatness. Do you know all who is here?"

"Many important people. I know how you feel - I share it as well."

"You? Oh, surely not! You're amazing! A diva with the voice of an angel! They all loved you tonight! No, you are much higher than us rats."

"Tell that to Erik." Christine whispered, then shocked herself to realize she said it aloud.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "There's a lot of tension between you two, isn't there? You both made that obvious tonight."

Christine bowed her head. "I know. I shamed myself. And I shamed Erik. I have very irrational emotions and I fear that I don't mask them well."

"Perhaps, but when it comes to masks between you two... I think you have the lesser mask than he. After all, he wears his for all to see."

"I suppose..." Her mouth was opened to continue in her soft voice, yet nothing came out. "I should get some rest while I can. M. Destler wakes me quite early these days."

Marie nodded in agreement and wished her a goodnight.

Christine shut the door, and for once, locked it. Then she blew out her candles, jumped on to her bed and, instead of lying down, she sat in the darkness, her legs against her chest tightly, her arms wrapped around them. Too much was happening. Everyone seemed to have an ulterior motive. It was overwhelming. And she hated it!

To help people she left behind she had to lie to everyone she met! Just so she could forget. It was upsetting to see that what she was reduced to.

She wondered how it was that once, when she was just a lowly dancer if she was somehow happier.

* * *

Madame Giry paced back and forth in her room. A habit, as many now called it, and indeed they'd be correct. Whenever she thought no one was watching, she'd start to pace. She'd get lost in to her mind so that it was difficult to catch her attention again. It was because of this that many a ballet tart was annoyed. 

Yet how could she stop herself? How could she stay out of her thoughts? For they plagued her night and day. Focused on just one thing:

The world was so big. She was one person. And two that were very dear to her were somewhere in that big world, lost in more ways than one.

She had put it all together now, for sure and certain. Meg's words, Comte's unconscious ramblings, Christine's behavior along with Erik's... there had been something going on in both of their minds. Had Christine's thoughts plagued her enough to run?

Surely they had. But where to? Where would a poor singer run? Run to escape the utterly inescapable?

* * *

Nadir had left the gala early. He had his bit of information and Mlle. Daaé was in no condition to return and Erik would not appreciate his presence. 

He had taken a stroll to gather his thoughts before he returned to his hotel room. The nearby park was empty of the usual couples walking through, as it was dark out, with only a waning moon.

But this was familiar. It was like many nights he spent in Persia, chasing after innocents, deemed guilty by the shah. Hiding in the blanket of the dark.

What was Erik doing? To him it was clear he had not let go of Christine. His fixation with "Aminta Giry" was evident.

But how to save her from herself was now his problem.

It was clear Christine had come here in an attempt to escape. Now, if she needed to escape Erik or the Comte, he was uncertain. But she needed help, nonetheless.

The Comte would be much more able to comply with Christine's need to heal. He would take care of her. Now it was his duty to bring Christine home, far away from Erik.

But what would be worse than bringing her back to the place where all the nightmares had began. What could cause Christine to go home?

Or then again, there was no need for Christine to go home in fear. What if the Comte found her?

Erik was clearly tormenting the girl. He never expected that he would bring Christine away for _both _their benefits. But that worked well. Since they had no feelings other than hatred for one another, it would be effortless to separate them.

* * *

**A/N: A lot of you have been saying that there is a lot of the same stuff going on, and I agree. But within the next three chapters that all should clear up. And just remember, Nadir does not have the most reliable information...**

**On another note...**

**Cherish your family while you have them. One day they'll leave us, unexpectedly. Let them know you love them with all your heart. Because that one day, when they leave you, you don't want that feeling of regret weighing down their memory. I only say this because Wednesday, I nearly lost someone very dear to me. And while he's alright, it just reminds us not to get attachted to material items and to love 'em when you got 'em.**

**Please review.**


	19. Realizing the Truth and Misunderstanding

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Christine remained furious at Erik over the next few days. And to get back at him for what he did, she did what would eventually lead him to go insane - she sang utterly perfectly. 

Yet she never said a word outside singing. She would sing exactly as he wanted, with more passion than he ever saw before when she was merely acting, and then she would leave. It was strictly professional - the relationship of only a singer and her teacher.

There were no emotions, no caring gestures or words between the two. Anything that he might say to her that did not retain to singing went unanswered. She knew that he tried to remain as distant as she was succeeding in, yet the truth was in his tortured green eyes - he was crumbling. It was only a matter of time until her revenge came in to light. She expected it to happen any time now - for lately she had taken it to a new level - adding little mutters when she would, 'slip into her mind' about how much she really did still love Raoul and wondered why she still stayed here.

Nothing she said was ever the truth, or at least it wasn't the truth that she really wanted Erik to hear. But he had to learn some how that he couldn't treat her like a servant just because he demanded it of her. She had grown up in to a woman, no longer a child. He had made sure of that. She was simply letting him see the results.

Erik ran his fingers through his black hair in distress. "Aminta... No. No, you're not doing it right."

Christine's mouth fell. She let out a cry of utter anguish. "I sang it perfectly! I did not miss a single note!"

He shook his head. "No, you didn't miss a note-"

"Then-" Christine's voice was flat, and prepared to make a sarcastic reply when Erik cut her off.

"There isn't enough passion in your voice."

"Passion?"

"You sing like you must. Not as if you want to. It is forced."

"Then I sing of the truth, do I not?"

Suddenly he slammed his hand down hard on to the lower range of keys, making such a dreadful sound that it made her jump. "Damn you, Aminta! Why is it that you can't sing a single thing like you're supposed to? You forget that I am a genius. You have spent too long a time with low life-"

"The people upstairs should be thrilled to hear that." She quickly said.

"It's not those people that I speak of. You know the one. That wretched _boy_ that has gone and ruined you."

"I am _not_ ruined! I sang wonderfully and you know it! You would not have me under such a strict policy if not. You would not put up with so much if I didn't."

"It was not you singing voice that I meant either. He has turned your heart black and of stone when it comes to me. He has made you think you are royalty to this world when you are not. You are too good to be a singer - to even be a diva! In your eyes this life is too low for you. Hell, I am too low for you now! If you remember once, it was different at one time."

"Yet if you'd care to remember, I was just happy being a simple dancer. That certainly wasn't beneath me. It was you who thought so."

"Because I know you can do better. But you... You see differently. As I spoke before - you know there is another life for you to fall back on. You no longer have that need to survive. He took that from you. And I believe he took your passion for this life from you as well."

Her arms were crossed as she turned and stared at the door - anywhere but in his direction. "How can you be so confident that is the truth of the matter? How do you know that Raoul would take me back? I don't believe he will. And the worst part is that I'm not certain I want to go back."

"No, no of course not! Can you not speak the truth? Soon enough, you believe, that I will fall under your will again." His breathing came in uneven gasps. Her statement brought hope to his heart, though his mind knew better than to trust the minx. But what was he to do when his Christine was the minx?

"Stop it!" Her sudden scream pierced the air, not wanting him to speak another word in case it started to make her shatter her fragile walls. Neither noticed that had silence fallen upon the upper stage above them.

"I refuse to speak to you only because I cannot stand the way you treat me. Sing for you with... With passion!" She spat the words, as if they were dirt in her mouth. "What do you want? My passion for you? Your songs? Both? I am unable to provide any of them. I cannot stand to remember Paris. It brings back too much pain. I am an actress, yet I am not that good of an actress. You can not honestly expect me to sing to you love songs and actually sound like I mean them if you treat me like I'm of less value than the dirt on your precious boots!"

And with that, she ran out of the room and slammed it closed as hard as she could.

But he followed her, leaving the loud sound of the organ bench wobbling, then crashing to the hard ground.

"Aminta Giry, you do not run from me! We have more to discuss!"

"You have _nothing _more to say to me!" She turned around and yelled angrily, hot tears starting to course down her cheeks. "I belong to myself! I do what I want! You are no longer my teacher, _mon ange_! I don't need you anymore! And you no longer need me. Everything between us is completely dead. Let it go, Erik! Leave me be!"

"Finish this production!" His anger was overpowering. It was not in her nature to hold a grudge; she was due to break soon. Realizing this, he calmed, "Please, in memory of Paris.

She ignored his last sentence "I shall. I will be the dutiful singer, and I sing with added passion, but that is it. I will not talk to you and I will not fight. The two of us will be professional or I take my leave. For you are right – you need this place to survive. I owe you that."

And with that, she turned and left, shutting the door with a harsh _'thump'_. The mirrors, portraits, tables and items set upon them through the hallway rattled.

Erik glanced up on stage to see everyone stopped in his or her tracks and staring. Setting his jaw and clenching his fists, he stalked back in to his room, shutting it gently.

* * *

Nadir had been visiting with M. Smith on his terms of patronage. He was beginning to regret involving himself. But leaving now would be suspicious. The house was stretching for M. Destler's commands and needed the funds. 

Just as they finished their terms, and he gave Mr. Smith his patronage, which was a large sum which brightened the man's eyes considerably. There was yelling.

"Aminta Giry, you do not run from me! We have more to discuss!" That was Erik, yelling at Christine. He feared for her, his tone expressed his unrelenting rage.

"You have _nothing _more to say to me!" She turned around and yelled angrily, hot tears starting to course down her cheeks. "I belong to myself! I do what I want! You are no longer my teacher, _mon ange_! I don't need you anymore! And you no longer need me. Everything between us is completely dead. Let it go, Erik! Leave me be!" Christine was very frustrated, seeing that she had forgotten her sham of Aminta.

"Finish this production!" Erik's words rang through the theatre. Nadir's mind began working once again. The practice rooms would be sound proofed, the door must be open, and nearby the resounding stage.

He ran out to the hall. He echoing of, _"In memory of Paris"_ but the rest of the conversation was cut off from his hearing.

Once he reached the room he heard door slam shut, and pounding footsteps. He saw Erik's face for a split second, but he did not recognize him. He gently closed the door shut, seeing all the attention he was receiving.

Was Erik trying to manipulate the poor girl again? It seemed so. Fortunately, she was able to hold her own for the time being.

He had to get Mlle. Daaé out of here, as soon as possible. Erik's temper threatened to consume them all.

He had to get her out of there fast. There was no time to contact the Comte. He had to do this without the Comte. But how to convince her to leave without risking alerting Erik of his presence…

* * *

******A/N: Gah, got too tired of waiting. D Here's the next chapter. Hopefully this satisfies all the want for a stronger Christine.**

**Please review. And if you want to inspire the muse, -'innocent' grin- you could review _both _chapters!**


	20. The Devil Himself

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

Rehearsals were brutal. Erik stood in front of the stage, in charge of producing the music, yet watching the stage at the same time. Everything had to be perfect, and he made sure everyone would be up to par. 

Christine came out to the stage, walking forth. She was the only one on stage, and her hands shook from nervousness. Wiping the sweat of her palms upon her dress lightly, she began to sing Think of Me when Erik stopped her.

"What was wrong?" She asked, apparently very offended to be stopped in front of everyone. After all, she was supposed to be a professional – the best at her job.

"Everything! How many times must I repeat the same thing? If you sing without passion and emotion, it's worse than not singing at all. Straighten your back, pull your hair back, and sing with heartfelt sorrow! You sing to your lover to have him remember you while you are separated! Sing like you are Elise! Own the role, Aminta!" He demanded.

Yet she relented. How could she sing like she knew what Elise was going through? Of course she knew, she understood, but if she were to truly sing these things from her heart, she'd surely break down, making Erik only more furious.

She started again, producing her singing louder, higher, purer, yet stopped again for the same thing, Erik growing less patient.

"You were fine for every song but this one. What is your trouble, Aminta?" He demanded, stopping everyone.

She looked away with fury in her eyes. Did he not know yet?

"Perhaps I'm just not as good as I once was." She said defiantly.

"You are as good as you have always been, if not better now that your voice has matured. I have trained you, which means you are wonderful. Now sing this right!"

"Or what?" She dared, fully away of all the people. He couldn't threaten her about her true name if he wanted to conceal his true identity.

He quickly came upon the stage and stalked towards her in such a way that had she been a little younger, she would have been cowering in fear in a corner somewhere. Such anger in his burning eyes, his body tense.

He grabbed her upper arms and shook her hard. "You will do exactly as I say, you hear me? You will do what I ask you to! I will not allow you to be a spoiled brat just because you wish to ruin me. You shan't! Not again!"

"Again?" She whispered, tears welling in her eyes from the pain of his hard grip.

Oh, how his eyes grew even larger in such fury! "What must I do to make you listen? What do you want from me? What do you wish me to do?"

"If cannot figure it out yourself I am not going to be the one to tell you! I cannot stand you, Erik. Where have you been when I needed you?" She said through clenched teeth, the tears streaming down her cheeks and continuing down her bare neck. He watched them for a moment, distracted by what he hadn't noticed. He had made her cry. To sob. He had left her when she had finally needed him.

Quickly he released his death grip he had upon her, just to see bright red marks where his fingers and palm had pressed in to her. Disgusted by the proof of his overflowed anger, he took a step back.

"I'm...I'm..." he stumbled, trying to tell her. But now the look of his eyes had fled from his and went in to her own. His eyes were now the ones of sorrow.

"I hate you, Erik Destler. I hate you now and I'll hate you forever for this!" She promised, then spun around and ran from the stage, disappearing in to the dark shadows.

In horror, he remembered that it was he whom he thought was an angel trapped in hell. And now he realized that was wrong.

She was in that place.

And he was simply the devil himself, keeping her wings pinned.

* * *

Nadir ran through the halls. He needed to be sure that it was worth possible death, to put his plan into action. He needed to see if Erik could control himself just this once, when he needed to most. 

He passed by a crying Christine. He seemed that it was past the time for waiting, he would begin tonight.

He continued on, at a slower pace, to the auditorium. Was this Erik's fault? He truly hoped it was not so. He was finally making a place from himself in this world.

Erik was standing there on the stage. The corpse de ballet's gossips were bustling with the news.

He stood there, stone still, with a look of horror on his face.

Nadir turned away, ashamed for Erik. The one time, when life had given him a chance, he had failed. Even with his mind he could not understand Christine.

But now it was for Christine. Erik would now sooner walk around without his mask in public rather than hurt her.

Christine needed to heal. So he would send her to a place, far away from Erik.

He would send her home.

* * *

**A/N: I like Nadir, but so far it seems no one else does...**

**Thank you for all your reviews! This story has over 50 now!!! Thank you for all your support.**


	21. The Opening Night

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

"Aminta? Aminta, I need to talk to you." Erik said softly to the door leading to Christine's room that night.

"Aminta, please!" He wanted to speak louder, but kept his voice low for the other bedrooms close to hers.

"Christine? I just want to speak with you. I promise I won't keep you long. I know you're awake."

The door opened. Her eyes were red and puffy, though her cheeks were now dry. Her face was pale and fallen. She was under too much stress. Stressed he had caused. Stress he could have taken away.

"Would you assist me in a walk? It wouldn't take long." He asked again.

"Why?" She whispered, her hand rubbing one of her upper arms. It made Erik flinch, as if he could see the red marks through her white nightgown.

"I think we need to talk."

"Monsieur, I don't believe that would be wise. There's only two days before the opera opens. I need my sleep if I am to deliver you a well trained voice, do you not think?"

"It will only take a few moments from your sleep, I assure you." He insisted.

"Do you still find fault with my singing?"

"No! No, this doesn't have anything to do with that."

"Then you have no reason to be speaking to me if it doesn't." She said, quickly shut the door.

His hands turned in to fists, his jaw clenched, his breathing heavy. Anger was plenty, yet he managed to keep it under control. He had already showed her the affects of it this afternoon. Christine had every right to shy away from him now.

* * *

And then it was show time. The grand premier and it was nerve-wracking for everyone. Since that night two days ago, Erik and Christine hadn't spoken a word to each other, other than when he wished her to sing or where to stand. 

Not a word more.

There was something different about Christine now. Like she was broken or hollow. Instead of being head strong and trying to prove her point, she remained quiet and dutiful to his commands.

And it was he who had caused it. Erik had yet to learn what bothered him more - the fact that he was the cause of her recent sadness, or just how he was. For before, she had told him many times that he was nothing to her. So why act so hollow towards him when he hurt her feelings? He knew others who had been harsh on her, even worse than he, and she would just shrug it off. Never would she allow someone else to keep her upset. Why now? Why because of him, who had no value in her mind?

Something was deeply wrong with her, but for once, he couldn't understand what.

* * *

The show was almost over, and up to this point, everything had been perfect. No matter what was happening in Christine's life, it was kept private and hadn't interfered with her stage life. She truly was being Elise. She had merged with her character and they were one. 

It was her solo. The grand finale. She timidly walked to the front of the stage, her hands together, looking stunningly beautiful. The music started, but Erik, to his horror, saw tears already in her eyes, one or two already overflowing on to her cheeks. Always had she a problem with this song. Perhaps it was because, as she had let him know in the previous weeks, that it was this song that Raoul had first fallen in love with her.

Or was it bigger than that, his mind allowed him to wonder. After all, was this not the song that they spent countless hours, day after day practicing? Wasn't this the song he promised her would make her a diva? When he would lazily recline in his chair and watch her belt out the notes as pure and dazzling as a real diva at her young age? Where he himself started to really fall in love with her? Had she felt similar in those days? No, he wouldn't allow himself to go that far, but it was a pleasant fantasy to dwell upon for a moment.

And then his thoughts cleared his head and he returned his gaze to her. She wasn't breathing right; he could see that from his position six feet away. It was fast, shallow, not from the diaphragm, but more from the upper chest.

She quickly made an attempt to wipe her eye, but it did little. It was time to sing, and she was losing her nerve.

Her mouth opened, and the words did start to flow. But it his surprise, she was no longer looking out to the audience, but to him! A pained expression was clear upon her face now, like he was breaking her again by just standing there, looking up at her in confusion. She needed encouragement.

He put on a strong face, urging her as an instructor, but this made it worse.

"_Think of me...Think of me fondly, when we say good...bye..."_

Her voice broke. Her eyes closed, she swallowed hard, and then looked at him again. Oh, she looked as if she would die, standing there. But why? _Why? _

And then she did something that caught him entirely unaware - she ran off stage and out the backstage door leading outside.

Without knowing what he was doing, Erik left his post conducting the orchestra and ran around the stage, and through the same door. She was in his sight as she struggled. It had just rained, and here in the back, it was muddy. She tripped, but got up and tried again. She was heading to the little white gazebo, he guessed. He had assumed correctly.

She clambered up the stairs, throwing herself down and sobbing, her face in the cradle of her arms upon one of the benches. He hurried up the stairs, kneeling beside her. He went to hold her, but stopped, unsure of his position.

"Christine? Christine, why did you run? What's wrong?" He asked, his voice low and husky from gruff emotion.

She shook her head. "I'm...I'm sorry I... Ruined your show, Monsieur!" She sobbed, struggling just to breath.

"No, no Christine, don't worry about that. What is happening inside that head of yours? What's wrong?" He was near pleading, which was strange for him. He was a proud, strong man, never a beggar. But he felt like one now, yet didn't care. This was his angel beside him, so full of sorrow she couldn't hold it all. It overwhelmed her. And he had to make it stop. Because he had always done before. Always.

"Christine... Why are you here? In New York instead of France?"

This caught her attention as her gaze met his, to stare at him in shock. "Oh...monsieur-"

"No more monsieur. No more Aminta. Tell me, Christine."

Somehow, with these words, with the walls between them so quickly crumbling, it encouraged her to talk. It was in her eyes that she wanted to. He sat upon a bench, pulling her on to it as well and wrapping an arm protectively around her.

"I... I had to get away."

"Why?" He breathed.

"Because... I couldn't stay. Because I was... Haunted."

"Haunted?" He echoed the words, not understanding.

"By memories. Pain. Guilt."

"Did the Comte-"

"I have already told you before he was nothing less than perfect towards me."

"Then why did you leave him?"

She met his gaze, and that pained expression was back again.

"Why?" He urged, his hold on her tightening to get her closer to him. To offer any security he had to give.

"Why do you care? You haven't before. You've been nothing but a cold teacher-"

"Forgive me." He interrupted her with a passionate, low voice.

"No. No, it was what I wanted. What I needed. Why... Why I was here." She looked away.

His brow furrowed, now truly confused. "But you didn't even know I'd be here. You didn't..."

She shook her head. "I came here to get over you, Erik. I felt horrible for what I did. And so many memories and feelings plagued me. I was scared. Scared that I might have made the wrong decision. And late at night when there was nothing to distract me, my heart became more and more sure that I indeed had. I wanted to get away, but I couldn't admit it. I couldn't go back. Then staying with Raoul, it was slowly killing me. I had given up the stage, the life I wanted, for another, with only a childhood friend. Everyone else was against me. The life of a Comtesse is not for me. It took me all this time here, and you, to realize this. But I thought... If I got away... If I came here, I could get these feelings out. I could make them fade."

"And when I had gotten over you I would be able return to Raoul, and no one would be further hurt but me. Don't you see? I had to run away. I couldn't tell Raoul that I wanted to rid my feelings for you! I couldn't tell him that I had to be alone. He wouldn't have understood any excuses. He wouldn't have let me go. But when you were here... Oh Erik, you don't know the torture!" She said all of this when looking away.

"Don't I?" He whispered. It was the only thing he could say after her confession so far. He turned her head toward him, before he would let her say more.

She shook her head. "I know what you went through. I realized here what I put you through. But when you were mad at me...I understood. And I used that anger to try and get me to hate you. But I couldn't! So I got you angrier, hoping that you would finally break and truly hate me. To make me hate you." She pulled up her little off the shoulder puff sleeves that conveniently covered bruises on her skin that were in the shape of a hand. He winced.

"When you did this... I had waited for it. But when it happened... It didn't work. It made me feel... Like there was no way out. No escape. I felt helpless. Like a slave."

"A slave?" He questioned, but he already knew the feeling all too well.

"A slave... Yes. It sounds so... Dramatic. Like it's own opera. Perhaps cliché? But when the bliss of love wears thin, all you have left is that feeling of love. That connection of the hearts, whether you wish it or not, always seems to remain. You can't make it go away, no matter how hard you truly try. And then it's like you're a slave to it, you're heart tricking you in to feeding it."

Erik sat there, staring at her, no longer able to comfort. Even his arm had fallen away from her shoulders.

"How can this be true?" He asked, shaking his head.

"Because you're not a monster, Erik. You're not evil. You're a man. You're the man that has cared for me for years, even though I was all too blind to see it. My denial was strong for a long time, but not strong enough. I couldn't marry Raoul with a pure heart while my denial was stripped bare of me."

"So now you just told me that you... You... Love me. Then how are you going to-"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I thought it would eventually go away. I thought I'd be rid of it by now. I didn't expect this to happen, so I don't know what to do."

He decided to do something. He leaned over to her and kissed her. Softly at first, then deepening it once he had his arms around her again.

Her mind immediately whirled back to that night; the last time she had felt like this, felt so passionate, but quickly blocked it. Those were times of despair. These times were too vivid for her liking, but not at this moment. No, this moment would be bliss again.

She felt him pull her closer. So all this time had just been an act. He did still love her. He did. She was in more trouble now than ever.

"Hmmm." A voice cleared behind them.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for such a long delay, I'm currently battling writer's block. Now there are only a couple more original chapters before the confrontation. I do plan to add more time before that happens and slighty change the plot.**

**Please keep the victmins of the 35 W bridge collapse in your thoughts and prayers. It is so heartbreaking, and scary that those people could have been our neighbors, family, friends, etc. But it gives me hope seeing all the help people have been giving.**

**Please review.**


	22. The Show Went On

Everything I Do

OceansAway and Gerik's Angel

* * *

A throat cleared not far from them. A gasp followed. Christine pulled away to look over in surprise when she saw most of the cast of the opera, with the exception of the dancers, and Mr. Smith standing before them. 

Instead of pushing her away, Erik's grip grew stronger upon her. It was always his first instinct - protect.

"Would someone like to explain what's happening here? Why my opera is ruined? Why my opera house will have a tinted name on it forever now?"

Mr. Smith's voice sounded coldly. Christine shivered, looking back at Erik. What could they say?

When Erik began to speak, anything to them, Mr. Smith interrupted. "Not now. Not here. The ballet tarts have improvised for you, but that last scene shall be sung. Everyone back in." He demanded.

Christine stood up; Erik held her hand as they walked back in.

"Can you do the song? If you can't, no one can make you." He said, his protective side strong once again.

She just looked up and grinned at him, then followed the rest in.

* * *

Mr. Smith spent several minutes explaining what he wanted her to do, so that her mishap would not ruin his theatre. 

"Miss Giry, the dancers have been instructed to move part down the middle once you enter. They will slowly move to the side. Do not interrupt their lines." He instructed sternly.

Christine resisted the urge to fire a retort; she _had_ been a ballet dancer since she was _seven_. She highly doubted Mr. Smith had danced that long. She knew better than to interrupt the lines.

She didn't acknowledge his advice. Instead she waited for an interlude and began walking and singing in.

She didn't need to think. This time, the emotions were at hand.

"Think of me 

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember me once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try"_

She would sing to Raoul, even though he wasn't here. It made sense that rekindled their love was also her song to let go of him.

"_When you find_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment_

_Spare a thought for me"_

He would surely move on, there were many other fish in the sea. And the Comte was a sought after man, title and a handsome face.

"_We never said_

_Our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea_

_But if you can still remember_

_Stop and think of me"_

Whatever they did promise, they were made in quickly in the throe of inflation. They never could keep their promises. Society and their own hearts would not allow it.

"_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the things_

_Which might have been"_

They would think of all their times past, that is how their loved formed, wasn't it? Let it be how it ended, with pleasant memories.

"_Think of me_

_Think of me waking_

_Silent and resigned"_

She now turned her thoughts to Erik. She never wanted him to forget her. No matter what she had thought before.

"_Imagine me_

_Trying too hard_

_To put you from my mind"_

She was finally able to return his feelings. Her face was covered with a bittersweet smile. She was torn between two men. She knew who she loved, but she still needed to let Raoul go.

"_Recall those days Look back _

_On all those times_

_Think of all the things_

_We'll never do_

_There will never be a day when_

_I won't think of you"_

While, one day, Raoul would leave her mind. But she would miss him, as her childhood friend. But she knew that she could not keep ties with both.

"_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea_

_But please promise me_

_That sometimes you will think of me"_

Would he remember her? Hopefully he would remember her as Little Lotte, the girl from the sea, and not the irresolute girl from the Paris Opera House.

But now, as she looked at Erik, she knew she could have a future, with one she could love. With no regrets.

* * *

**A/N: Really hope the song lyrics didn't throw you all off too much, not the most interesting thing to read. But that's what they do in opera, they sing.**

**Today I am going to band camp, and will be returning the 12th, then leaving the next day on vacation and returning the 18th.**

**Sorry to give you all such a short chapter, but it can't be helped.**

**Please review!**


End file.
